The Eagle of Westeros
by BrotherCaptainSheperd
Summary: The long awaited rewrite is here. Gaius Julius Caesar has sailed from Gaul to invade Britain with five legions. However, his fleet encounters into a massive fog, of the coast of Britain. Despite this, Caesar orders his ships forward, sailing into the unknown. In a new land of a new world, the Eagle shall make its mark. "Audentes fortuna iuvat"
1. Chapter 1 - The Eagle has Landed

**A/N: Here it is… The long awaited rewrite of Eagles of Westeros. For those of you who are new, I used to have a fanfic about a SI-OC that appeared on Westeros and decided to build a Roman civilization from scratch. I took it down because the writing was a little cringy for me. To those of you who have read the old fanfic, this is a totally new fanfic though it will still feature Romans in Westeros. Me and my life sucks so expect slow updates. And so here is the new fic. I do not own anything and this is rated M.**

 **Chapter I**

 **The Eagle has Landed**

Romans put a lot of stock into oracles and omens. Even now, several centuries after the founding of the city, Romans still accord respect to the gods albeit a little less devoutly from how their forefathers would but respect nonetheless. Before moving to any great undertaking, a wise Roman should always inquire of what the gods have in store. It is a dark night in Massalia, a great city established by the Greeks in 600 BC, it was once a great power in Southern Gaul. That power has long since waned. For years now it has been allied, some would say vassal, to Rome.

Its forum is still as the darkness of night has cloaked the city. And yet figures still walked its streets. A group of six walked with purpose in the direction of the Temple of Apollo. Though many people tend to forget, the Oracle at Delphi was not the only temple of Apollo to have seers. After all, Apollo Truth-seeker ever seeks to guide the path of humanity. Or so legends say.

The six figures are robed with hoods raised to cover their faces as they knock on one of the side doors that allowed entrance into the temple's inner chambers. A clink of metal could be heard as they entered the sanctum of oracle.

The oracle had been standing before an altar, burning incense when the servants ushered the strangers in. She was a slight woman who wore a pure white stola with a shawl that covered her head and half of her face.

"Sit gentlemen." She motioned them to several chairs arranged in a semi-circle in front of her. As they did as she bid, she turned back to the flames of the altar. Silence pervaded the room until one of the men grew impatient.

"How long must we wai-" The robed figure to his left raised his hand, cutting off the man.

"Peace, Anthony. The priestess can take all the time she needs. The gods are not bound by the whims of time like us men." The man said in a calm tone. He rose and dismissed four of their companions to await him from the courtyard of the temple. Only he and his subordinate remained.

The oracle was silent for a few more minutes before she turned back to the men. "You are wise to realize this, Son of Rome." She nodded at the man.

"What do the gods say of my endeavor?"

The priestess began to sway gently from side to side. Her eyes glowed white and her voice taking on an ethereal quality. The subordinate took a step back in fear but his superior remained calm and in control as he waited the message from the gods.

" **A land lies before you. A land none of our world has seen. Falcons soar over its high mountains, lions roam its hills, roses bloom in its fields, snakes slither across its deserts and wolves prowl its snows."**

A prophecy within a divination? The man steeled himself. "Will I be victorious?"

" **Those born of iron shall rise to meet those of the Eagle. Much blood will flow… Much blood…"**

"Will I gain the glory I seek?" He persisted.

" **Glory, land, fame. A great fortress and a son to bear your name."**

He smiled. A son? The priestess' next words halted him. She was not finished.

" **Be warned, Son of Rome. Should you continue on this path, your fate in Rome shall be erased. Though you shall die on the Ides of Mars you shall never return to your city. Your bones and the bones of all that follow you shall be buried in that foreign land."** The priestess closed her eyes and became silent.

He was undeterred. Fortuna ever favored the bold. If this was his fate, then so be it. Besides as he would have a son to carry on his name then his line would live on. He dropped a bag of gold on his chair, bowed in respect to the priestess. As he left with his subordinate in tow, both failed to notice the priestess' eyes opening once more. Her eyes still glowing with ethereal power, she whispered to the wind.

" **The fate of that land will ever be changed, so too will yours and your men. Son of Rome. Son of the Julii."'**

* * *

Dawn came on the 3rd of June. The sun peeked from the horizon to gaze upon a huge fleet of eight hundred ships. They sailed out the harbor of Pontus Itius towards the lands of Britain. Most of them were transports bearing the soldiers of five legions and their equipment. Among them however were about twenty purpose built Roman warships with some of them having catapults, ballistae and scorpions mounted. Another fifteen were ten heavier Gallic ships captured two years ago when the sea tribe of the Veneti rebelled against Roman rule.

At the head of the invasion fleet, heading first out of the harbor, was the flagship of the war fleet. Called the Favored, it had two large towers on its massive deck and was rowed by six rows of oarsmen. A wooden statue of Fortune, the goddess of fortune, was affixed to the prow of the mammoth hexareme. Her hand stretched out toward the horizon.

A man stood at the prow, gazing out into the expanse before him. He wore a leather muscle cuirass decorated with the Aquila and leaves of laurel made of gold. Underneath it, he wore a crimson tunic, its sleeves' edge embroidered with gold thread. A golden laurel crown covered his receding hairline. A crimson cloak lifted with the breeze.

"Gaius Julius Caesar, conqueror and walking dead man." A joking voice pried the man from his thoughts. He turned to face the speaker. His friend and subordinate, Mark Anthony, was dressed similarly except his cuirass was made of bronze. He clamped his hand on his friend's shoulder and turned back to the prow.

Mark Anthony jostled him as he joined him on the ship's railing. He didn't mind. Mark Anthony was one of his most loyal and able generals. He under him for more than two years, aiding in the conquest of Gaul, and while the first invasion of Britain had been little more than a scouting expedition in force it had been a failure so far as Caesar was concerned.

Gaius Julius Caesar had endured much to be where he was now. At the age of 46, he wasn't so old. In fact, he was just as fit as the 29-year-old Mark Anthony. He had come far from the arrogant young brat that had stared defiantly at Cornelius Sulla, Dictator of Rome, who had just been contemplating executing him on the spot.

He was governor of Cisalpine Gaul, Illyricum and Transalpine Gaul. Through his conquests, he was undisputable defacto ruler of all of Gaul. He had command of eight veteran legions, five of which were accompanying him on this invasion along with five thousand Gallic cavalry while the other three legions remained under the command of Gaius Trebatius Testa to keep the peace. It had been through his efforts that Gaul now bowed to Rome. Not as great a legacy as Alexander the Great but it would do.

"You're thinking of what the witch said aren't you?" Mark Anthony wasn't really an adherent to the gods. Then again, neither was Caesar however.

"Antonius, it is not wise to insult the messenger of the gods when they have given such a favorable vision."

"Favorable? Her prophecy foretells our deaths. How would that be favorable?" Anthony growled.

"All men die. It is but the manner in which we fall that differs. If you are so concerned with death in those lands, then why accompany me at all? I would understand if you asked for command of the legions left behind."

Anthony scoffed. "And leave all the fun to you? Never." They both laughed.

Anthony had had a very boring posting before he had requested a transfer to Caesar's command. He was a cavalry commander and one of the best Julius had ever seen but cavalry weren't really useful in peace time and Anthony had been stuck with construction duties for so long he complained he had grown moss. The following battles they had fought proved that this had been an exaggeration. Suffice it to say, Caesar was quite content to have Anthony in command of the legionary cavalry.

Anthony continued. "Besides, the oracle did say you would get land, fame and glory. In all the time I've known you, you've never been a miser with your humble supporters." He executed a flamboyant bow before dodging a kick from Caesar. They chuckled and Caesar gave a solemn nod in Mark Anthony's direction.

Anthony understood this as Caesar's silent thanks for his support. Caesar appreciated above all loyal men. Every single man aboard this fleet would die for Caesar, including himself and Caesar in turn took care of his men. It was their unspoken form of social contract.

Mark Anthony knew despite Caesar's words that he was still disturbed by the oracle's words. Any man would but it was the mark of a great man, he who was able to push forward, to meet his fate nonetheless. Anthony wondered though, what kind of foe would be able to fell Caesar. Despite being a bit advanced in age, Caesar was a superb fighter and horseman. He shrugged internally. This was why he left such matters as the gods to his friend. All he needed to worry was killing Caesar's enemies. If he was going to die, then so be it. It didn't mean he couldn't enjoy himself before then with wine, women and fighting.

Caesar soon retired to his cabin to rest as much as he could. He had been up all night getting the fleet ready to sail and he was sure to get no immediate rest when they landed in Britain. He remained there for the rest of the day, planning and resting alternatively. The next day, he was sleeping fitfully until a knock on his door woke him.

Groaning, he rose and opened the door. Outside was a servant who delivered the captain's request for his presence. He nodded to the servant and went to splash his face in the basin of water in his room before walking to the captain's temporary quarters on the foremost tower.

The Favored's captain was a man by the name of Commander Rutilus Narbo, an able man who had commanded ships for ten years. The frown on the man's face did not bode well. Neither did the cluster on the table of officers.

"What seems to be the problem, Commander?" Caesar saw no need to beta around the bush.

The commander's frown deepened. "You have slept for nearly the entire day and thus have not noticed."

Caesar's narrowed as he closer to the table. Maps of the coast of Britannia and the northern coast of Gaul were spread on the table. A headache began to develop as he realized what the commander was pointing out.

"We should have sighted land by now."

"Aye, and yet there is none. We have made no error in navigation. It was a straight line to Britannia. No deviations where made." The commander's bafflement was plain. At least the outline of land should have been sighted by now.

"And to make matters worse, general. There's a large fog bank that has appeared out of nowhere. It is so thick that we won't be able to see clearly more than a few hundred feet around us." Caesar went to the window and saw the commander's words were true. Fog obscured the entire horizon before him. When he looked through the opposite window, he could see the fleet mustered behind him, awaiting orders. The commander had ordered the fleet to converge when he came upon the fog bank.

It was as if the gods were testing him. Here now, this is the point of no return. Enter if you dare. He smiled grimly. He turned to his officers, Anthony among them, and said, "The die is cast." Anthony grinned and ordered the men to fix a brazier atop each ship's mast. Two lanterns were latched to both the bow and stern of the ships. Men were instructed to keep the light going at all times. Once this was done, the fleet arranged itself into a wedge with the warships in the front, the slowest transports carrying equipment, supplies and horses in the middle while the troop transport ships bringing up the rear.

In this way they hoped to minimize loses if they somehow foundered on the rocks of the coast that was sure to be near. Caesar's gaze was drawn to Fortuna's outstretched hand from the prow.

"Fortune favors the bold." Mark Anthony said, reading his commander's thoughts. Caesar nodded and gave the order. With that, the fleet of 800 ships moved forward through the fog and into history.

* * *

They sailed on for three days and nights, ever growing more pensive with each passing hour. The men were sure that they had fallen off the edge of the world and were now doomed to sail endlessly until they died. The officers argued whether they should turn back or keep going, hoping to reach land.

In the midst of all this fear, Julius Caesar remained unmoved. Even Mark Anthony was a bit nervous of the unknown but Julius was resolute. His fate had been foretold. He would not die until he had achieved what he came for. For the next three days, he kept a vigil by the prow of the ship. His gaze often switched between Fortuna and ahead of the ship. His men took heart from the sight of their commander standing vigil with the lookouts. They saw how he would gaze reverently on the statue of Fortuna in front of him, they heard him order forward, to follow where the goddess pointed. So they obeyed. They kept the fires going so as to guide the rest of the ships behind them. On the third day, their faith was rewarded.

A cry from the lookout atop the mast of the flagship. "The fog is breaking up. I can see light ahead!"

The men maintained their silence, afraid that any noise would dispel their hope from their sight. As the flagship glided out of the fog, the mist clinging to the ship as if it refused to let go, a jubilant cry went out. One by one, ship by ship, the fleet sailed out of the fog. As each ship sailed out, the men aboard raised their voices in thankfulness to the gods for their mercy.

Mark Anthony stood next to Caesar. "Well. We're here." He said.

Caesar nodded. The crisis was over, for now.

* * *

The fleet came out in what they later learned was called Blackwater Bay, towards the mouth of the Blackwater Rush where it emptied into the bay and flowed out to the Narrow Sea. The Romans could see land to both their flanks. Though they scratched their heads at their location, they continued under Caesar's orders to sail a little inward and then beach their transports. The point they landed would have been, some nine hundred years later, the landing point of Aegon Targaryen and named King's Landing. However, the arrival of the Romans altered the future of the lands forever.

Caesar had his legions disembark immediately and prepare to repel an attack from the locals, who he believed were Britons. When not a single man was in sight, he ordered scouts to search the immediate area for hostiles. His officers were bewildered when they found none. Caesar and Anthony took this as divine favor. Sending further scouting groups with Anthony, Caesar ordered his legions to build a massive castra or legionary fortress. The legions were well known for constructing large forts to protect their men whether they were marching in hostile country or being tasked as occupation forces.

The castra was built in the traditional four sided square. However, since it was supposed to house an army of more than twenty thousand men, it would be an understatement if it was said that it would need to be a bit larger than normal. A ditch, ten feet deep, was dug around the circumference of the fortress. The earth was then used as the first layer of the wall.

While two of the legions dug, Caesar sent another two south, over the river to where a large forest was. They were tasked with cutting down timbers for the outer walls and buildings of the fortress. In the old world, Caesar would have been famous for the siege of Alesia where he built siege fortifications eleven miles long. He did this to contain a force of eighty thousand with his forty to fifty thousand army. This was smaller in size as there was no city to encircle. It was only seven miles long as they had to build it close to the small natural harbor they had found and had beached their ships.

Within a week, a bridge across the Blackwater Rush was built. The timber from the forest saw the walls of the fort rise as if by magic. Within another week, the walls and towers were finished. Four of the legions were housed in the fortress along with three thousand of Caesar's Gallic cavalry. Another thousand with a single legion were across the river, building a smaller legion fort on the other side.

The remainder of the cavalry were being led by Mark Anthony as a reconnaissance in force out in the countryside. When the sentries alerted Caesar of the scouting expedition's return, he was expecting a report of on the location of the nearest hillforts and villages. Needless to say, the reports he received were far different.

* * *

 **950 BC (Westerosi) or 54 BC (Roman)**

Future historians would later call it by several names. The landing of the Eagle, the Mistborn Arrival and the Founding were some of them. Nyles Rosby, heir of House Rosby, was merely fourteen name days old when the strange invaders arrived. The Rosbys were known for being sickly and Nyles was no exception. He was a thin lad, black hair atop a high forehead. Like most of his ancestors, he was prone to fevers and coughing fits. As such, his interests were more to the artistic side of things than to anything that martial that required physical fitness. He loved painting and sculpting in clay and stone. He was quite skilled, in fact, for someone of his age.

For the past few days, he felt compelled to travel to the shoreline. While the castle of Rosby was further inland, they still held in fief two villages. One of these was along the Blackwater Bay. It was to here he was drawn. Organizing a small excursion with some guards as company, he had set camp on a bluff overlooking the bay. The bluff was situated on a spur of land that pointed outward from the mainland and then in toward the Blackwater Rush. There he stayed for two days, painting sunset and sunrise, waiting for something that he himself knew not. Then on the third day, he noticed something different. There seemed to be fog gathering at the center of the bay. Now, fog wasn't unusual along the bay but it was the way this one formed that intrigued him.

The fog seemed to be guided, as if, by a sculptor's hand. Mist would rise from the waves and join the ever growing fog until it covered a significant portion of the center of the bay. It fascinated him and he painted several portraits of the fog forming. After two days, however, the fog was failing to dissipate. The fishing boats from the village were soon refusing to venture out too far. They whispered that the gods had cursed the waters and so it was not safe to venture out until that ominous fog disappeared. The Rosby guards laughed at this when they had gone into the village for supplies. They were not laughing the next day.

Nyles remembered the day clearly. It was quite late in the day but he had an umbrella lifted over his head to keep the anything dropping and ruining his painting from above. He had started a new one as a result of that strange compulsion. He had already painted the sky, the bluff and the upper parts of the fog bank but for some reason every time he attempted to continue painting the rest of the fog, he hesitated. It was as if something was missing, but he knew not what.

For hours, he agonized. What was it? What was missing? Why was he not able to complete this Seven-damned painting? Then he spotted something in the fog. A light that seemed strangely out of place in the fog as it was still the afternoon and the sun had not yet dipped behind the horizon.

As if that was a signal, a ship appeared through the fog. It was unlike any that Nyles had ever seen before. It had lines of oars on its side like the legs of a centipede. Two large towers were mounted on either ends of its deck. From the distance he was at, he could barely distinguish the towers from the mast, though the oars were quite obvious. The thought that it was a new type of trading ship out of Essos died stillborn as another ship poked its prow out of the fog. It was followed by another and another in an unending stream. This was no fishing or trading fleet.

Nyles gaped in awe and fear, his hand never ceasing to paint, moved by unconscious effort to record, to immortalize this event in painting. For it was sure that this was no mere event but one that would change the fate of Westeros forever.

 **A/N: I wanted to reach 4k words but I think I should end here. I will try to make this as close to historical as possible but as we are in a fantasy world, some discrepancies will exist. Also, since it will be quite hard to completely describe things without historical sources, many of the units of the Romans will be kinda ripped out of Rome 2 Total War.**


	2. Chapter 2 - The Eagle Nests

**A/N: Hey guys. I would like to say thank you for all your support. It's great to see that people like what I write. To ImageViewer, I have never written a gamer fic or a RWBY one for that matter. You might have me confused with someone else. Lord Trump, I'm going to use Rome 2 Total War units because it would be easier to describe units there. That's not to say all of the units will be like that but it's just simpler that way. It's not like they didn't research their history either. I'll try and check the unit's accuracy before writing them in. Oh and please log in to comment so I can PM. I try to make A/Ns as short as possible. And here's the second chapter. Hope you guys review.**

 **Chapter 2**

 **The Eagle Nests**

The horns of the sentries alerted the camp to the arrival of Mark Anthony's scouting expedition. They rode through the completed gateway of the fortress at a good clip. Behind them trailed captives tied to each other. Caesar grunted, seeing the success of his subordinate's mission. He returned to his tent to await Anthony's report. He didn't have long to wait.

Anthony strode into the tent and went straight to the corner of the tent where a small table held Caesar's wine. He poured himself a liberal amount before downing it in one gulp and pouring another. Caesar raised an eyebrow but kept silent. When Anthony was finally finished, he turned to Caesar and pointed at the maps on his war table.

"You may want to search those maps of yours again, Julius."

Caesar frowned. "Your expedition must have been successful."

Anthony downed another cup. "Enough to know that we may not even be in Britannia." He signaled to one of his men who had been standing at the entrance of the tent. The man left before bringing in a curiosity that Caesar had never seen before. It was a leather covered thing, it's inside was a form of parchment that had been cut to a uniform size and then bound together. Caesar slowly flipped through the strange thing. He focused, in particular, on the runes written in the book. They were unlike anything he had ever seen. His classical education had taught him to read and write in Greek and Latin. None of those were close to this. Neither was it similar to any of the Gallic or Briton runes they had encountered before.

"We found these in a small hillfort to the west, along the river. About a day's ride away. A druid was trying to hide them. We captured him alive, unfortunately, the hillfort's chieftain refused to surrender. We had to kill him. We caught his wife though," He grinned. "And his daughter."

Caesar rubbed his chin. "You could not communicate with them at all? You brought Gallic cavalry with you, after all."  
"No." Anthony snapped his finger and his man brought in a sword with a set of armor.

Caesar inspected the armor. It was good craftsmanship. A whole breastplate made of steel. It had armored gloves and a form of plate armor to cover the wearer's arms. Its chest had a small stag embossed on it. There was even armor for the thighs, legs and feet. And all of it made of steel plate. The helmet was of particular interest as it was steel and yet two prongs of a stag's antlers sprouted from its sides.

"Was he the only one wearing this?"

"Yes, though his warriors had lorica hamata on most of them. Undisciplined though," Anthony sniffed. "more berserkers than soldiers."

"That at least is comforting." Caesar sighed. "Well bring in that druid you captured. Let's see if we can't communicate."

The druid that was brought before him was a short man. His feature's would not be amiss among Caesar's own legionnaires whether Gallic or Italic in origin. Black hair, small nose, thin-ish mouth. Caesar shook his head as the man began babbling in his language. Caesar had learnt some of the dialects of the southern Gauls himself and this man was speaking none of them. He sighed.

Ignoring the still babbling man, he turned to Anthony. "Did you scout the immediate area?"

"Yes. There's another of their hillforts about a half a day's ride north and another two hillforts a full day's ride to the north east. Only these ones aren't hillforts anymore. They're built of stone and have towers. I don't think these are barbarians, Julius."

Caesar nodded. "That may be but they will all kneel to the might of Rome. Order the centurions to ready their centuries and-"

At this point he was interrupted by the druid who had sat up from where had been slumped and stopped babbling.

"Senturiii-" He said or repeated. Caesar and Anthony recognized this as a type of word association they had themselves used when they had studied Greek. They would find common terms in the languages and repeat them. The two had been speaking in Greek on a whim but when Caesar had begun giving Anthony his orders, he had switched to Latin. The druid had understood, at least, some Latin.

Caesar then turned and spoke to him in Latin. Every once in a while, the druid would nod and repeat a word to signify he understood that word. After a few hours, they had begun to establish a base line of vocabulary. Seeing the druid was tiring, Caesar ordered him to be placed in his own tent. He gave strict orders that the druid was to be fed and treated with care until such a time that he ordered different.

In the meantime, he debriefed Anthony on the operation. The cavalry expedition had mainly scouted the land and maintained distance from the villages situated around the large fortresses. These they had spotted when they had headed north along the coast. They alarmed Anthony, as each was built of stone and looked nothing like the hillforts they had assaulted the last time they were in Britannia so he avoided them. To avoid detection, they had turned west. Several villages were found on the way. Around some of the smaller ones, Anthony personally crawled up within stone's throw of the village's inhabitants.

He had immediately noticed a difference in their attire from those he had encountered in Britannia. He also could hear what they were saying, and though it was almost gibberish to him, he had brought along Gauls who did understand the dialects of the Celtic tribes of the coast. None of his men understood a word.

It was then that he began to have doubts. Needing more information, he decided to find a target to attack that would yield him more information. None of the villages he had found were suitable as they were within the operational arc of the garrison of the land's forts. Since he lacked the siege equipment to breach any of the forts he saw, he was forced to find a weaker target. He found what he was looking for when he found that small hillfort along the river that emptied into the bay.

It was isolated, having no other forts or towns except for the small village that was built at the foot of its hill. After carefully reconnoitering the area, he had bedded his men down to wait for darkness. As soon as it was dark enough to move without being detected, his men snuck up the hill. At a signal, two hundred of he personally led his men in scaling the low wooden walls using ropes while the rest of his men provided a distraction by attacking the village with lighted torches.

It worked. The defenders of the fort were drawn to the commotion and left the fort in force to confront the force attacking their villagers. They numbered only a hundred men and although well equipped with mail armor and longswords, they were quickly overwhelmed by the Gallic cavalry working in tandem with their dismounted Roman counterparts. The cavalry showered them with darts until the dismounted Romans slammed into the disorganized mass. Once this was accomplished, the cavalry rode around the fighting and attacked from the rear. This finished the smaller force and what remained of them fled into the night.

Within the fort, the fight was expected to be relatively easy as most of its defenders had been lured away. Anthony's men had successfully opened the gate for the rest of their men when the chieftain of the fort had emerged, clad in a form of armor that Anthony had never seen before, what they discovered later was full plate armor.

The courtyard was lit with the torches of his men as they poured in. However, the figure of the chieftain brought pause. As mentioned before, he was clad in full plate armor with even his head covered with a helmet. Two metal bands twisted and hammered to form the antlers of a deer sprouted from the sides of his helmet. The plate covered him from head to toe with even his hands covered with metal gloves. A massive sword… actually Anthony hesitated to call it a sword anymore and seeing the sword for himself, Caesar agreed. The damned thing was almost twice the size of a gladius. Anyway, on to the report.

The chieftain had stood stoically as Anthony's men had poured in, forming a semi-circle facing the chieftain. The chieftain had placed himself between the Romans and the only entrance into the main inner building of the fort, his massive sword planted like a cross before him, his hands resting on the cross of the sword. An immovable last guardian for those that lived within. Behind him was a brace of ten of his household warriors along with a woman, presumed to be his wife, and a man dressed in the garb of a druid.

Anthony's men hesitated. Most of them were Gauls, who had served with the Romans for years as light cavalry. As such, they were not heavily armored, many of them eschewing even the light mail hamata as too constricting. The Roman equites who accompanied Anthony were more willing than their Gallic counterparts, evidenced by their presence in the front ranks of the semi-circle, but the full plate and menacing helmet intimidated them.

Anthony saw this from his position atop the wall. He grimaced and walked down a set of stairs that led down to the gate. His men noticed him and parted before him. He came out of the crowd, slightly to the left of the chieftain's view. The antlered helmet turned toward him. Anthony walked a few steps along the line of his men, his scutum facing the enemy. The chieftain's helm kept its gaze on him with every step.

The two warriors stared at each other for several seconds. Then chieftain lifted his right hand and pointed at Mark Anthony. A few words came, none that Anthony understood, but then words were not needed. A challenge to a duel was universal.

* * *

Maester Janos of the newly built keep of Water Rush was terrified. He had been in the library, studying some of the books on the lands of Westeros. Just twenty-three, he was one of the youngest to ever forge a chain at the Citadel. As a reward and as a bit of punishment, he had been assigned to this newly built wooden keep. He was a bastard of Highgarden, one of many that Garth Gardener IV had. Following in the footsteps of their acclaimed ancestor, who populated noble houses of the Reach, the current Garth Gardener loved wine and women hence the bastards.

He was particularly blessed. His father at least took responsibility for his spawn especially those from a noble mistress. Seeing as how his mother was one of the Tyrells, who served as stewards of Highgarden, he was probably the closest thing to pureblooded as possible. Alas close isn't the same as the real thing. Nonetheless, he could have still worked toward a knighthood and an eventual name but he decided to go against his mother's wishes and instead entered the Citadel. Possessing a sharp mind, he quickly showed his skill with mathematics and management. Added to this was his eye for detail and love for history, the maesters were suitably impressed.

Wars in Westeros were as common as the wind blowing in from the Narrow Sea. Some wars would end in territorial gain, others in minor agreements and an exchange of hostages. The recent war with the Stormlands had ended in minor defeat. His lineage of being both Gardener and Tyrell made him the perfect solution to the problem of hostages, said several sallow pig-eyed Maesters jealous of his intelligence. They shall forever remain unnamed. The end result was that he would be one of the youngest maester's to be assigned to any keep. It just so happened that the keep belonged to the Stormland who had defeated said Maester's father was only a coincidence, said aforementioned jealous sallow pig-eyed and forever shall not be named maesters.

Despite his misgivings, he had served his lord ably for three years now. It wasn't all that bad. Lord Durran was a fair lord to those of his household. His wife Lady Anna of House Connigton was a kind and caring woman. Their daughter, Elise, was a bundle of energy constantly running about and used to having her parents wrapped around her little finger for the past eight namedays of her life. Besides that, he had his books. The keep was a temporary affair as they waited funds to build a proper stone castle but it contained an extensive library filled with books on history and geography of Westeros and Essos. One of his prized possessions was a large tapestry painting of the Known World. It was so large that it covered a large part of a wall.

He had just entered the library that night after visiting the rookery to send of a raven to his mother, assuring her of his safety when he heard a commotion. He quickly moved to his liege's solar where he knew the lord spent his early evenings before retiring to his bedchamber. When he entered, Lord Durran was already putting on his armor.

"What is it, my lord?"

Lord Durran turned his gaze to the solar's window that looked over the village. They could clearly see torches approaching the town. A few moments later a war cry erupted.

"We are under attack. It must be the Ironborn. We must move quickly to secure the villagers."

Janos hesitated. "My lord, wouldn't opening the gates and sending out the men leave us open to attack?"

His liege growled. "I refuse to leave my smallfolk out there, maester. I 've already sent out orders to the men. They're marching as we speak."

Janos was silent. He didn't know why but his gut felt that this was the wrong move. He cursed himself at that thought. His idea would have doomed the smallfolk of the village to the horrors of the Ironborn. And yet, he was supposed to give counsel, whether or not it was the counsel the lord of the castle desired.

"My lord, it may be a trap to lure you and our men out of the keep."

His liege paused in tightening the straps of his right boot. Lady Anna appeared in the doorway, her brown hair flowing in disarray over her sleeping gown. The terror in her eyes shook his liege more than any words he could have spoken. He opened his mouth to say something when a cry came.

"They're over the walls!" The cry turned his blood cold. Lord Durran snapped into action. He hurriedly donned his helmet and grabbed his greatsword. He ran down the stairs and through the dining hall to the courtyard, his wife and maester at his heels.

By the time they reached the courtyard it was too late. The castle had only a hundred and twenty men-at-arms. The enemy's ploy had successfully lured a full hundred of them out. Another ten had been manning the walls. These were all dead, killed swiftly in the early moments of infiltration. It was the last three who had been stationed at the gatehouse that had put up a fight and were able to raise the alarm.

When they arrived, the sounds of fighting outside the keep had dwindled to silence and the enemy had men muscling the heavy oak gates open. Lord Durran knew it was now futile but looked resolved to go down fighting. He drew his heavy greatsword from its sheathe and walked a few steps from the entrance. He then planted his sword and waited.

Janos observed the invaders. They seemed a mix of unarmored raiders and mailed professionals. They hesitated at the sight of his liege as they rightly should. Lord Durran was well-known as a swordsman in the Stormlands, winning many a tournament at Storm's End. Then the semi-circle of the enemy shifted and parted to let a man pass.

The light of torches shone on the man's armor. It looked like it was supposed to mimic a man's muscular physique. It looked like it was of burnished bronze and was decorated with silver figures that he could not make out. His helmet was a open-faced thing with two cheek pieces protecting the face. A red plume flowed from the top of the helmet and waved in the slight breeze. The man's thighs were slightly protected by strips of leather and his legs with greaves of the same make of his armor. The armor alone set him apart from the others. Then there was his shield. It was a rectangular affair with wings and lightning bolts painted onto it that covered most of his body. It was almost like a tower shield but it curved inward, the purpose of the curve escaping the maester. Janos recalled no house with that as their symbol. He must be some mercenary from Essos, hired by the Ironborn. His short sword was almost a third the size of Lord Durran's greatsword.

The stranger paced a few steps before stopping at the center of his men's semi-circle, his shield facing Lord Durran.

Lord Durran stared at him in silence for a few moments, judging his enemy before finally speaking. With his right hand he singled out the warrior. "In the name of the Seven I challenge you to single combat for the lives of my family." He said.

His opponent said nothing, merely raising his strange shield and placing his short sword on top of the shield, pointed at Lord Durran. The enemy's men started cheering, saying one word over and over.

"Antoniii! Antoniii! Antoniii!" Janos then realized it was the enemy leader's name.

In reply, the Stormlander men-at-arms jeered at the puny sword that the enemy's leader wielded. Both opponents took a few steps forward to give them some space to fight in. Lord Durran's height and reach advantage was immediately made clear.

Lord Durran attacked first, raining furious blows on this Antoniii, hoping to batter the man's shield into pieces or hit the more exposed head. None of the blows had any effect as Antonii would duck behind the shield before the little sword would flick out like the tongue of a lizard.

While Lord Durran's blows merely were intercepted by Antonii's shield, Antonii's sword flicked out and stabbed at Lord Durran. It was made ineffectual by Lord Durran's front armor plate, the best money could buy. Slowly Lord Durran grew more and more confident as none of his opponent's strikes were able to remotely injure him. He began making wide swings to provide more power to his blows.

The cheers of his men were getting louder, as well as those from the enemy. Lady Anna was watching with hopeful eyes, a prayer to the Seven on her lips. Janos should have felt elated that the enemy seemed close to being overwhelmed. The blows of his liege seemed to force Antoniii to hide behind his shield, his own attacks dwindling to almost nonexistence. Something didn't feel right but Janos could not pinpoint it.

Then he saw the man's face. Whereas before it could have been carved from stone, it suddenly blossomed into a grin so savage it caused all to shiver, the gleam in the man's eyes was almost like candlelight on burnished dragonglass.

Janos cried out a warning just as the enemy made his move. Lord Durran had become more labored in breathing and his strikes lacked the earlier speed. They still carried power yet they were slower. As Lord Durran's blow descended the enemy raised his shield higher than he had done throughout the entire duel. In the center of the shield was a large metal boss. It was this that struck, not the sword but the fingers of Lord Durran's right hand. The sound of the crack silenced both sides as a blood curdling cry of pain came from within Lord Durran's helmet.

A second later, the same boss slammed into the chin of Lord Durran, disorienting him. In a flash, his opponent was behind him and stabbing into the back of Lord Durran's unarmored right thigh. Lady Anna gasped as her husband was brought to his knees, her hands covering her mouth as tears flowed.

The enemy's men were once again noisy in their jubilation. Their leader pulled the greatsword out of Lord Durran's weak grasp and threw it to the side. Lord Durran was gripping his right hand when his opponent cut the straps of his helmet and pulled it off him.

Lord Durran glared in defiance. His opponent merely shook his head and pointed with his sword at Lady Anna. Lord Durran's defiance melted as he turned his head to look at his wife. A silent look of apology was the last thing on his face before his opponent separated his head from his body. Lord Durran's now headless body convulsed a few times before falling to join its separated head on the ground.

The next moments right after his liege's death were a blur to Janos. He remembered muscling Lady Anna up to the library where he was joined by Lady Elise and her nursemaid while the remaining men-at-arms bought them as much time as they could. He remembered thinking that the Stormlands needed to know of this attack. He remembered releasing a raven but not what he wrote or where he sent it. He remembered taking down the tapestry painting and rolling it up. He remembered the door bursting into pieces and the Ladies Anna and Elise as armed men entered. The very man who had killed Lord Durran strode into the room. Lady Anna begged for Elise to be spared the rape that they all knew would come and the man stared uncomprehendingly at her.

He remembered an order being barked and all of them being roughly grabbed and tied. They were then pushed down the stairs and put on horses. He remembered crying out for them to leave his books alone as they loaded those on wagons, from where they got them he knew not. He remembered flames as they rode into the night and then darkness.

* * *

The Westerosi have a saying. "Dark wings bring dark tidings." As Maester Janos's raven flapped its wings, it turned its intelligent eyes to watch as the castle that had been its home burned to ash. It flew on for three days until it came upon the massive keep of Storm's End.

It's ruling family claimed that their ancestor built the keep with the help Brandon the Builder of House Stark to defy the god of the sky and the goddess of the sea. His defiance was for taking their daughter to wed despite their refusal. Several castles were smashed by the rage of the gods of winds, storm and sea but he remained resolute in his defiance and built another, each bigger than the last. Finally, the seventh one withstood all that the gods could throw at it. It was named Storm's End and the man was given the name of Godsgrief. That man's name was King Durran "Godsgrief" of House Durrandon and it was his descendants that ruled the Stormlands ever since.

The raven made its way to the rookery of the castle and loudly cawed for attention. A short time later, a maester came and took its message out, leaving a bowl of meat scraps for the hungry raven. The maester opened the message but upon reading it, the shock was enough for strength to leave his hands and the message floated to the floor from nerveless fingers. A moment later the message was grabbed of the floor and the sound of running feet and shouts came to the raven's hearing. The raven gave an avian shrug and focused on the tasty meaty treats.

* * *

 _Lord Durran lies slain, the keep is lost._

 _Janos_

The Last message from Water Rush, newly established seat of Lord Durran III of House Durrandon, second son of King Barrick II of House Durrandon, Lord of the Storm's End and King of the Stormlands.

 **A/N: Well guys, what do you think? I've fixed this up as much as I can but I got no beta so there might be errors. Please review. I worked really hard on this chapter and reviews are the only payment I get. Not reviewing is like not paying the pizza guy. XD**


	3. Chapter 3 - The Rumblings of Thunder

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for your support. To that one Guest who commented on Caesar's age, Bro. Romans climb the ladder of success all their lives. They generally don't reach praetor or general rank till they're in their 40's to 50's. If I put Caesar in at 20, he wouldn't have had any power at all. In fact, far as I know, Caesar is barely a tribune at the age of 20. That means no dignitas and therefore no clout. You also have to remember that people during that time were very healthy and active. Soldiers sometimes till served until their 60's or 70's. Not uncommon. Caesar's 49 year old self is a respectable age AND more importantly is the actual age he was when he invaded Britain the second time.**

 **Also, PLEASE READ THIS. This is for all you viewers that keep asking after the Game of Thrones TV series characters. Caesar's Arrival in Westeros is dated as 950 BC. The Events of AGOT are set in 297 AC or somewhere around that. That**

 **BC- Before Aegon's Conquest**

 **AC- After Aegon's Conquest**

 **(Here's a new one Acronym) CA- Caesar's Arrival**

 **Meaning, Caesar arrived 950 years BEFORE Aegon the Conqueror invaded. That, plus the 300 years or Targaryen rule after Aegon's arrival means that this is set approximately 1247 years BEFORE AGOT. Thank you.**

 **Chapter 3**

 **The Eagle and the Rumblings of Thunder**

The raid on that wooden castle gave the Romans a treasure trove of information. Though the books had had to wait until they understood the language that these people spoke, there had been several maps recovered in the raid, including a map of the "Known" World. All this information, however, caused uproar in the Roman camp. Oh how, Anthony and the older officers cursed when they saw the maps.

At first, they tried to dismiss it as enemy disinformation or some other kind of trick. The staff officers got into a great argument that went on for two days. Caesar was strangely silent for most it, merely listening to them as they argued. As time passed, rumors of the argument and its contents reached the soldiers. At first, like their officers, they dismissed this as improbable. But with the spoils of war from the raid and the soldiers that went on that raid, returning to camp, it was no longer deemed myth.

Skirmishes with hereto unknown men armed with weapons never before seen caused the mutterings of the troops to nearly to turn into near mutiny. The soldiers began demanding explanations from their superiors and no amount of punishments from their centurions could quell their questions. As the centurions themselves were frightened by this unknown situation they were in, they sent a delegation to Caesar's tent where the argument still raged. The appearance of his hardened experienced soldiers looking in fear and confusion on the debate that raged in his tent snapped Caesar out of his mood. He stood and demanded silence. Once achieved, he ordered all the legions to be mustered before him.

It took a few hours but the men were arrayed before Caesar, their anxious eyes trained on their commander. Caesar spent a few minutes scanning his men before he opened his mouth.

"Soldiers and Men of Rome." He said. "You have all heard by now that we may have fallen of the edge of the world and into another. That we may no longer return to our land, our Italia. Or to our beloved city, oh she that bore us all, Rome. To never see the bustle of the Forum or taste the sweet wine of Italia's vineyards." He paused as the entirety of the legions sighed in remembrance. "Shall I lie to you, my dear soldier, with whom I have served for so long for the glory of Rome? Nay, I say, I shall not. We have fallen from our world and shall never return."

The soldiers close to Caesar could see a tear fall from his eye. "Like Aeneas of Old Troy, we have been cast adrift, bereft of city and home. Cursed to never return to our beloved land. Is not such a curse too heavy to bear, my soldiers?"

A cry of mourning rent the air, starting the back rows, gathering strength until the entire five legions were shaking with grief as the thought of never returning to the families, their wives, children and lands sunk in. The cries went on for several minutes until they finally died down. Caesar himself was red of face and teary eyed.

"Like any loyal Roman I consulted of the Gods on this venture of ours." He slowly continued. "The Gods saw fit to gift the oracle with a prophesy. 'Glory, land and fame shall be ours. The fates that the gods have weaved for each one shall be unwoven and made our own.' But the price, my soldiers. The price is our blood, our blood and bones."

The soldiers were silent as they contemplated this. The fates woven by the gods were rarely kind. No one could change one's fate, no one. But if they could then the price would indeed be steep.

"The Gods demanded we be thrown through the smith's crucible. That we pass through the fires of war." With each word, Caesar's voice rose in volume. "They challenge us, Romans" with that word each soldier felt his back straightening. "They demand to see Roman mettle, Roman strength and Roman values at its finest. They demand Roman blood be spilt so no shore shall not know our blood. They demand that We, as Romans, make this land our own!"

Caesar raised his fist in the air. "Shall you, sons of Rome, children of Mars, chosen by Jupiter fail to meet the Gods in their challenge?"

The soldiers raised their fists as one. "NO!"

Caesar's face split open in a smile. "The gods have granted me with the honor of leading you. Will you follow?"

The answering roar of approval echoed through the land and into the halls of the gods themselves.

"Roma! ROMA! ROMA INVICTA!

 **XXXX**

 _ **One month later**_

The sounds of shouting, the groan of strained siegecraft and the whoosh of ballista ammunition awoke Anthony from his blissful slumber. He sat up slowly, blinking blearily at the sunlight barely filtering into his tent. It was just after dawn, he calculated. A sensuous moan coming from his side. A slender hand attached itself to his arm and attempted to pull him back.

"Antonii! Bed…" The lovely brown haired lady sharing his bed, whined. He grunted and rose, planting a kiss on her forehead before setting about starting day. Putting on his armor and splashing water on his face, he strapped on his sword. He spared a glance to admire the voluptuous body of his bedmate before he opened the flap of his tent. His mind slipped easily into the mode of war as soon as he left his tent.

Upon entering the command tent next to his personal sleeping quarters, he was greeted by an optio who handed him the report on the night's casualties and the current condition of the camp. This included food supplies and ammunition stores for both the ballistae and catapults.

The Eleventh had been given to him to command by Caesar to besiege Hayford Castle, as they learned it was called. Castles were apparently this land's equivalent of a fort and a semi-palace, depending on the wealth of the ruling "lord". By Jupiter, the terms they used were strange. Though the siege engines had only started to engage since dawn, the wall was already beginning to show signs of damage.

By his estimate, they would crumble within the hour. He gave the order for the men to assemble. While he waited for them to gather, his mind began to wander. It had been a spectacular few weeks. When Julius had decided to address the men with the truth or rather, as close as the truth as they were comfortable, he had feared for the men's sanity.

Roman discipline was a wondrous thing but all men had limits. The men were already near mutinous and Julius wanted to tell them that they would never go home again? Insanity. Then again he had nearly lost it when he had come upon the rolled up maps they had taken in the raid. If he had been the one to tell them that they had foundered in this strange new land, they would have probably stoned him. But that was why it was Caesar who spoke. When he had listened, it was with growing courage in his faint heart, as a sort of glow half-imagined came from Caesar. It only confirmed it for Anthony, that Caesar was one touched by the gods. He had seen it before, the touches of foresight, unnatural charisma and the great Roman tactical genius. There was no doubt he had backed the right charioteer.

He even had some of the early winnings with him. The hot young lady he had captured in that Westerosi hillfort. Lady Anna, strange names they had in this land, had begged his protection for herself and her daughter. Of course, he hadn't understood the exact words but he had seen similar scenes on multiple campaigns. He had shrugged and ordered her to be placed under guard. Caesar had decreed on an earlier campaign that hostages were not to be raped until their value had been ascertained. This was to prevent any misunderstandings during treaty talks, as the chieftains they would be treating with would be less inclined to bend the knee to Rome if you had "accidentally" raped and/or killed their wife, daughter, sister, etc.

Anyways, they had later discovered her heritage when the man they thought was a druid was able to eventually communicate with them. When that happened, Caesar summoned her to the command tent to interrogate her. The moment she entered, she threw herself at Anthony's feet begging his protection for her daughter. At the Maester's translation, Caesar shrugged and gave the decision to Anthony. Anthony sighed and granted it. Her face had lit up and Anthony felt this strange urge to look away. It was then that the woman's daughter was brought in. The child screamed with joy to see her mother and ran to hug her. The woman whispered something to her and the girl turned to look at him. She then proceeded to stick out her tongue at him. The mother, mortified, slapped her hand over the girl's mouth and looked at Anthony with fear. He swallowed and glanced at Caesar. He noticed Julius covering his mouth and snickering at him. He knew that wasn't good. Caesar had decreed that the two hostages were now his responsibility, to his horror. When the maester translated this, the mother gave profuse thanks while the little girl tried her best to bite her mother's hand that was still clamped firmly over her mouth.

Speaking of the maester, he had been a treasure trove of information. Apparently, they weren't druids but a kind of priesthood of knowledge. Anthony had to snort at that. Why would you chain your cock to scrolls and "books", which were those rectangular-ish things, he would never understand. Anyways, they had been charged with serving all the petty lords of these lands and therefore possessed a lot of local knowledge.

Caesar had quickly built up their defenses and had the legions secure the land around the fortress. Various villages and towns were captured. His siege of this "castle" was part of that measure, Caeser himself was besieging a town the locals called Tumbleton. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud crack. He turned to see the walls of the castle crumble before a final barrage of stones. His men cheered as he waved his sword as a signal for them to advance.

XXX

Anna Durrandon of House Connington watched her man march out of their tent with mixed feelings. Though her heart had misgivings, her body still ached to cling to the chiseled statue that was her captor. She fell back on the cot as she cursed herself for her unfaithfulness.

She had been wed to Durran as soon as she passed her fourteenth nameday. She spent the next four years resenting the man that had stolen her from her family. This lasted up until she had Elise. She smiled as she thought of her little treasure. When she had her daughter, her heart mellowed. By her daughter's eighth nameday, she could safely say she had come to care for Durran. Then, just as she had begun to entertain thoughts of love, he had been torn away from her. By the very man with whom she shared a tent, a cot and her body.

She knew her place in society. A lady was expected to sew and spin. A lady was to stand quietly behind her lord husband, speaking only when spoken to. A lady's only worth to any other than her parents was to birth heirs. But now?

She and her daughter were perched on a precipice. One misstep and they would fall over. Their continued survival depended on staying in the good graces of their captor. She had not had, as of yet, any cause to regret throwing herself before Antonii's feet and offering herself. Of course not, whispered a traitorous voice deep within her. Not when he treats me as he does.

She shivered as her core heated up at the thought of the nights she had been spending with her captor. Anna kept telling herself that the only reason she permitted Antonii's advances were to protect her daughter. Like a mantra, she repeated this every day, on some days she would even convince herself. But in her more honest moments she would acknowledge that Durran had never cared about laying with her other than produce an heir.

Antonii, an invader from across the seas, delighted in it. Sex, as he called it was and should be pleasurable for both parties. He savored the moans and whimpers that he wrung from her ever more willing lips as he strummed her body like a lute in the hands of a skilled minstrel. Despite his hands being stained with the blood of her late husband, she found herself confused as she received more care and attention than she ever received from anyone except her own mother and father. She found so much pleasure from those same hands and his cock… Ohh his cock. All Durran knew was to place himself over her and hump.

Anna sniffed. Now that she knew better, she had been deprived of so….. She shook her head. Durran had been her husband. He had, at least, provided for everything she had needed. But now she was in a different situation. She had to adapt, survive, even as that survival was definitely more pleasurable than her old life.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a crash. She threw on a shawl and ran out of the tent, just in time to witness the walls of Hayford Castle crumble before the invader's terrible war machines. A cry went up from the Romans, as she learned they called themselves, as horns blew and they advanced.

 **XXXXX**

Nyles Rosby watched with horrified fascination as the army of invaders assaulted the walls of Hayford Castle. He and a small reconnaissance force had been detached by his father ahead to scout while his father remained behind to train up their levies.

Though they held no love for their Durrandon overlords, having been just conquered just two decades before, they nonetheless answered the call to arms. However, almost every single lord located above the Blackwater Rush would drag their feet when that call came.

For the Durrandons, this meant missing about eight to ten thousand men out of a total fifty thousand that they could levy from all their lands. For the lords who lived above the Blackwater Rush, this meant that they had their full levy in their lands when the invaders struck.

Their overlord had ordered them to gather at Blackhaven in preparation to retaliate against the unprovoked attack from what the Durrandons believed to be the Reach. Nyles was quite sure it wasn't the Reach but these newcomers.

He had been able to convince his father and most of the lords to drag their feet even longer than before. He had seen the large fleet that had entered the Blackwater Bay. A secret meeting of lords that were leaning towards rebellion had been quietly called. The assembly of lords had too little information to act on except that a huge fleet had arrived. So, he was tasked with spying on the invader army and gathering information.

He had just set out when news reached him, from the smallfolk, that Hayford Castle was going to be put under siege. He didn't care a whit, as House Rosby and House Hayford were ancient enemies. This enmity was greatened by House Hayford's quick swearing of loyalty to the Durrandons when they invaded. Half of House Hayford's levy was already on its way to Blackhaven. The rest that remained were a green group of boys with a small core of men-at-arms. Nyles decided that presented a chance for him to observed the enemy army in action.

The castle was just being put under siege when he and his men arrived. They hid in a small wooded hill within site of the castle but were unable to camp closer as the invader patrols were numerous. The patrols themselves were conducted with an orderly and timely fashion denoting a disciplined force under an experienced commander.

They, however, were not familiar with the land and this allowed Nyles and his men to sneak to hill closer to the action. What they saw sent shivers up their spine. Within a day, a wooden rampart was constructed around the castle, sealing it off. At the same time, the invader camp was constructed with the same speed. The camp was a tight ordered squared with tents evenly spaced within the walls and watch towers manned day and night.

By his estimate, there were about five to six thousand of them down there. Then there were the siege engines. The invaders had brought in several large scorpions, each individual one of would nearly beggar a lord to build, expertly setting them up and aimed at the walls. After they were set up, the bombardment of the walls began. Fortunately for the Hayfords, night fell and the bombardment stopped for lack of light to illuminate targets for the scorpions. The bombardment began again at first light. Within a few hours the walls crumbled. With a mighty cheer, the invader army went into motion.

Nyles watched as the invaders formed up into movable square shield walls that had shields facing their front, sides and above them. This protected the attackers from most projectiles that the terrified garrison threw at them. Soon they were within and a few minutes later the standard of the Hayfords was lowered.

Nyles quickly ordered his men to retreat. They had to take advantage of the attackers distraction and flee. They needed to take this report to the assembly. Nyles knew this was the beginning of a new era. Like the Arrival of the First Men in Westeros and the Invasion of the Andals, how they and their houses responded to this would determine whether their descendants would look back on this day or not at all.

 **A/N: Well that's done. Sorry for the long wait. I know, I suck. But hey, here's the chapter. Oh by the way, I'm experimenting putting sex themes in. No lemons yet but I'm thinking of it…. If the stuff I write doesn't suck that is. I've never written smut or lemons before so.. * Shrug**

 **Let me know what you guys think, alright?**


	4. Chapter 4 - The Tumble

**A/N: Hello hello. This is your captain speaking. Delivery of a chapter of the Eagle of Westeros. Hot off the pan. Haha. Unfortunately, I'm really busy. Currently taking my masters so don't have a lot of free time. Please read and leave a comment below to tell me what you think. Thanks a bunch.**

 **Oh and to answer** **OdysseusOFIthaca,** **no Nymeria of the Rhoynar isn't alive yet and she won't be for around 150 years. But don't worry we'll see her later hint hint wink wink.**

 **Chapter 4**

 **The Eagle and the Tumble**

 **1 CA**

A black field of caltrops. The standards of the lordly houses of these lands were definitely interesting, Caesar mused to himself. A rider came out of the town asking for a parley as soon as his army was spotted. Around him were a score of his praetorians and officers. Immediately to his side was the Tenth Legion's standard bearer stood proudly holding the standard up high.

The parleying party rode with their banner and a white banner of parley. Twenty men-at-arms accompanying an older lady and one of their maesters. They came to stop before his group and dismounted.

The lady was garbed in a black dress in their style that dragged its skirt in a trail behind it. Both of them looked at each other for a few moments. Just before the lady could speak, Caesar raised his hand, stopping her. An idea popped into his head and he turned to one of his optiones. He ordered him to bring the captive maester they had taken in Greek.

A few minutes later, he was brought before them. The eyes of the party from Tumbleton widened as they beheld the captive. The man himself looked quizzically at Julius, as he had spent much of the past month teaching him and his men the language of this land. The Common tongue had many base words in common with Latin so Julius had learned quickly though a Westerosi would not understand a Roman if he spoke in pure Latin. He knew enough to speak on his own. Julius merely laid a casual hand on his sword.

"Translate." He said. The man, Janos he believed the name was, gulped and understood. Julius was going to pretend to be the ignorant barbarian invader, ignorant of the language with only a small smattering of words to get by. There was nothing that Janos could say that would not be understood by Caesar. If he said anything to give up the ruse or pass information, then his life would be forfeit on the spot. Julius was surprised to see a nod of respect from the man before he turned to the party from Tumbleton.

"Lady Footly." Janos greeted, bowing slightly.

The woman recovered from the shock sufficiently to blurt out the questions that had been in the minds of all of them. "Greetings Maester, pray tell, what is this? Who are these men and what are you doing with them?"

Janos bowed again. "These are the Romani.."

The young optio Julius had sent to fetch him had immediately caught onto the game and growled, for all the world nothing but an ignorant barbarian. "Roman!"

Janos nodded. "Ah my apologies. They are the Romans. A people from beyond the Stepstones and Summer Isles. They are led by Gaius Julii Caesar"

Lady Footly groaned. "And I assume that they are here to conquer new lands for their people?"

"Yes my lady, that is most definitely the case."

The group from Tumbleton began mumbling among themselves.

"What?"

"No no no."

"Invaders? From another land?"

"They must be like our Andal ancestors coming to Westeros and destroying the First Men."

Julius let none of his thoughts show on his face as that particular statement came out. Janos had taught him some of the history of the land of Westeros. Several thousand years ago, an invasion force of Andals landed on these shores. The Andals were on a mission of conquest ordered by their faith. They had conquered the kingdoms of the First Men, who had been in this land tens of thousands of years ahead of them. Only one kingdom had not fallen to the invaders and that was the North. All the rest had surrendered and intermarried to avoid destruction.

The Lady Footly had been studying him intently before speaking to Janos. "I can guess that you were captured when they besieged a keep? Which one was it?"

"The Water Rush, my lady."

Again murmuring started up again.

"The Water Rush you say?" Lady Footly tapped her nose. "That would mean that the real foe that the Storm King should be facing are these men…" Lady Footly trailed off before breaking into laughter

"Ha ha ha ha ha… Oh this is just precious. Those fools in Storm's End thought the Reach did it. Even now they are mustering to march on Ashford. On Ashford. The OPPOSITE direction that they should be pointed at! AHAHAHAHAH" The laughter continued on for several minutes before she finally calmed down.

"Very well. Maester." She snapped.

Janos looked at her oddly.

"Ask this.. Caeser… if we surrender shall our lives be spared?"

Looks of shock showed on her men's faces as they protested a storm.

"SILENCE!" She screamed at them. "Have you forgotten we are a House of the REACH! I would rather surrender to these new invaders than to fight for the killers of my son!" There was silence as the opposite party lowered their gaze to the ground.

"Now then, maester. Ask what terms we may have if we should surrender Tumbleton without a fight."

Janos nodded and walked over to Julius. Julius motioned for him to whisper in his ear. The sharp minded optio moved in front of Julius to obscure their lips. Julius made a note to find out that young man's name before focusing on Janos.

Caesar pondered the question for a few minutes but quickly made up his mind. From what he knew, this woman hated her overlord. Hated him enough to betray him without even token resistance. Then again, the death of one's offspring fighting against said overlord would be a powerful incentive. Besides, Caesar knew he needed to preserve as much of his men as he could.

With Janos translating, he stated his terms. First, an oath sworn before the gods of the Westerosi binding them as vassals to the Roman State, come when they called and to follow where they led, to obey the laws they set down. Second, a tax of ten percent of all wealth in the lands ruled over by House Footly to be paid yearly in coin, food produce and other materials available to House Footly. Also a tithe of men, to be tallied later, would be required to be presented at the Roman encampment at the Blackwater Rush at a date to be specified later.

Again, Caesar let none of his thoughts show on his face. The faces of the opposite party was another story. Their shock was palpable. Lady Footly voiced their disbelief.

"Such light terms, maester. Pray, let us not fool each other. What are the real terms this man demands of us?"

Maester Janos, himself shocked by the terms offered, assured his fellow Westerosi of the truth of his translation. He knew it wasn't normal for such light terms to be offered. In fact, he knew that at minimum, at least half of a town or village's wealth was taken immediately and the rest was levied out of them through exorbitant taxes. If these terms were real, they would only harden the resolve that had been slowly building in him to remain with these Romans and learn more about them. But for now, he returned to the task at hand.

Caesar knew his terms were a bit light even by Roman standards. This wasn't a pacified province that had lived under Roman rule for half a decade. This was the very definition of wild territory. He knew that they were alone here. There would be no reinforcements, no aid sent by the Senate even if those spineless weaklings were able to scrape enough money together. But that was precisely why he gave such terms. It was a gamble but if he played off this lady's hatred for her overlord and it payed off then he would have a model that worked in operating in this new land.

Lady Footly looked at him with narrowed eyes. "If Lord Caesar will swear by his gods, hold to his word, then we will accept."

Caesar straightened to his full height and spoke in Latin. "I swear before the _Di Consentes_ and the Aquila of the legion to keep to these terms for as long as those before me keep to theirs."

Lady Footly, who understood only the words legion and swear, nodded. "We swear to uphold these terms. Tumbleton is your, my _liege_." She knelt while her retinue drew their swords then lifted them in their hands as if in offering. The Romans, startled by the drawing of steel, only kept still by their supreme discipline and a twitch of a hand from Caesar.

Caesar, smiled, then asked if the Lady Footly would join him for a glass of wine while her men went and collected the initial tribute. Knowing she had no other recourse, Lady Footly accepted.

 **XXX**

News spread quickly that Tumbleton had surrendered without a fight and were offered generous terms. This news, coupled with the report from Nyles Rosby, prompted most of the lesser lords to send emissaries to the Roman camp asking for terms. Some, however, were determined to fight against this new invader. House Darklyn of Duskendale, House Crabb of the Whispers, and both House's Brune mustered their forces at their respective holds and waited. When news of this spread in birthed chaos among the ranks of the Stormlander lords and pretty much in every kingdom, except for Dorne which was still divided into petty kingdoms.

This gave Caesar time, time Caesar used wisely. While the Stormlanders debated on the veracity of the reports, he moved quickly to secure his northern flank. His first move was to besiege Duskendale. While his fleet moved up to support the siege, he ordered Anthony and Lepidus to each assault The Whispers and Brownhollow respectively. At both places, he ordered them to make an example of those that resisted Rome's might. Both castles were dismantled and their ruling aristocracy slaughtered. He made sure that all the lords knew that if they resisted then destruction awaited them. It worked. House Brune of the Dyre Den surrendered after hearing what happened to their cadet house. Within Duskendale, a civil war erupted between those that wanted to surrender, led by the house's heir, and those that were adamant in their resistance, led by their lord. It ended with the heir's forces victorious. The new lord promptly sent a rider with a message of surrender and opened the gates.

With that, Caesar's northern flank was secure for the time being. The Romans controlled territory from Cracklaw Point in the north to the Blackwater Rush and the Bay in the south. It was, at least nominally, compliant to Caesar. The hatred of most of the lords against the Stormking worked massively in securing them, though Caesar was not fool enough to believe that the oaths they swore by their gods would hold them to their word. As such, when word reached him of the Stormlander army finally turning around and march toward him, he had barely two thousand of their "knights" marching with his legions.

Speaking of knights, his sharp eyes spotted something that had been bothering him since he had first seen it. The mounted men of this land had a certain contraption that was tied to the horse and allowed their riders to put their feet into. He had consulted some of his cavalry commanders but they had scoffed at the idea so he had let it lie. He really prayed it would not bite him in the ass. What were they called again? Oh yes. A saddle and stirrups.

Ah well.. He turned his attention fully to planning the upcoming battle.

 **XXXX**

Rodrik Durrandon watched in dismay as the great council of the Stormlands descended into madness. His father, Barrick, second of his name, lord of Storm's End and King of the Stormlands sat ineffectively as always upon his high seat in the great hall at Grandview. Rodrick nearly spat in disgust at the sight of his father. He had always been a weak ruler. Despite his father, Rodrick's own grandfather, finally forcing the lords of the Blackwater Rush and Cracklaw Point to bend the knee after much Stormlander blood was spilled, Barrick had done nothing to secure these new holdings.

He had been far more interested in amassing a library that would rival that of the Citadel rather than rule his lands. Rodrick's own older brother, though he loved very much, had inherited some of his father's idiocy. Durran's request to be allowed to build a keep at the Blackwater should have been denied. Not that Rodrick didn't think that the Stormlands couldn't afford it or didn't need it, oh no. It was a good move. Building a secure foothold on the other side of the Blackwater that was completely loyal to the Stormlands was an excellent idea. The member of House Durrandon picked to build and secure it, however, wasn't.

The move was basically creating a cadet House. Now that was all well and good if Durran was the second or even third born. If it was Cassandra, his younger sister, then it have been alright. It would have been even better if he had been the one. As second son, it was his duty and right. BUT NOOO! Apparently Cassy being two and him being eight made them too young to hold what was theirs by right! He may be ten but he wasn't a fucking idiot. He had more of his mother in him than his idiot father and the maester had often said that he was smarter than those of his age.

His spineless father had merely waved a hand at his older brother's proposal and allowed it. It was because of Father that Durran was dead. He would never ruffle Rodrick's head again and poke his nose. He would never hear Durran's guffaws when he fell from his horse. It was all his father's fault. Well, his father's and those Romans. He vowed that he would not rest until he had planted all their heads on a spike.

When the raven from the Water Rush had arrived, it was his rage that had thundered through the halls. Like his father, he had also believed that it was the Reach that had attacked the Water Rush as vengeance for their defeat in the last war. He had harried his father to move faster than his usual snail's pace to avenge his brother. He had also argued with him until his father had allowed him to join in the war retinue, accompanied of course, by a guard of four knights to keep him out of trouble.

They had marched halfway to Ashford from Blackhaven when word reached them of the capture of Hayford Castle. On its heels arrived news of the capitulation of Tumbleton without a fight. They had been marching in the opposite direction of his brother's killers. If they had known then they would have already been at the Blackwater by now. Rodrick, quite literally, lost it. When he came to his senses, he had a woodman's axe in his hands and a splintered table in his father's war tent. The men had laughed and coined a name for him. Little Wrath. He didn't mind. His wrath would fall upon his brother's killers and they would be nothing but ash.

Having had enough of his father's inaction, he leaped onto the table in front of him. Grabbing a clay jar, he threw it to the floor.

"Enough!" He screamed.

The sound of the jar shattering and his shout silenced the hall.

"What are you? Snivelling cowards or men?!" He cried.

The lord of Griffin's Roost scoffed. "You are but a child. What do you know of war?"

"Exactly." He snapped back. "I am a child. And yet even this child knows more than you, my lord." He said with a sneer. The lord made to jump at him but was restrained by his fellows.

"We thought ourselves under attack from the southwest and so we moved against the Reach." He walked slowly on the table, all eyes upon him. "But it seems it was not so and our true enemy is in the north."

He raised his hand and pointed to the north. "If it is true that our enemy is from another land. If it is true then they are here to take our lands, our homes and families as their trophies. Each day we linger here is another day they get closer to sieging our homes. You sit here arguing while they wax stronger. Are you rats or men?"

"Men, you little runt!" The lord replied, causing laughter to ring in the hall.

"Then be a man, Stormlander. The enemy is in the north. What will you do?" Rodrick snarled.

The hall was deathly silent. Then the Griffin lord grinned. "We march north." The lords laughed and raised their fists in the air.

Rodrick nodded, satisfied, and jumped off the table. To immediately be mobbed by exuberant lords who all wanted to pat his back. Rodrick felt exhilaration as he was lifted and tossed in the air over and over. His brother would be avenged. The Stormlands had been duped, yes, but that was in the past. Now, the full might of the Stormlands was on the march. Forty thousand men, thirty thousand foot and ten thousand cavalry. They would crush their enemies, Rodrick was sure of it.

 **A/N: I think I'll end it here. If I put the battle it would be too rushed so I decided to cut it and put it on the next chapter. Please review and tell me what you think.**


	5. Chapter 5 - The First Battle Part 1

**A/N: Here we go. The first major battle of the fanfic. Please review if you think I've done it well. I hope I do it justice. Muhahaha the clash of iron and the spilling of blood. Glorious!**

 **Also, several of you have asked me to add actors that match the characters description best. I can't do this for everyone but I'll put a few.**

 **Julius Caesar – Ciaran Hinds – Loved his portrayal of Caesar in HBO Rome. The only difference is he's more fit in this version.**

 **Mark Anthony – James Purefoy – Keeping with the theme, I also loved his portrayal of Mark Anthony. The debauchery in the series that he was known for is spot on. The only difference is he's way more loyal than the one in the series.**

 **I'm still deciding on who would be the actresses for the girls.**

 **Chapter 5**

 **The Eagle's First Battle**

 _It was the year 1 CA. Barely a year since the arrival of His Imperial Majesty, Gaius Julius Caesar, First of his name, upon the shores of Westeros. Though much of it had been spent in securing territory, His Imperial Majesty's forces encountered scant resistance from the lords of the land. During these early months, His Imperial Majesty left significant forces at the fortress at Caesarea. There was always at least one legion there to hold the main foothold against an army formed from what His Imperial Majesty believed to be a conglomerate of tribes in the area. This was, of course, false but that was the information His Imperial Majesty was operating under._

 _To say that native Westerosi were divided was an understatement. Each of the native polities either dismissed it as fable, such as the Westerlands and the Vale while others such as the North were too far away to care and ignored it. Dorne itself was still divided among petty kings and could not concern itself with matter beyond the borders of their desert. The only realms that were immediately affected and therefore more proactive in their response were the Reach and the Stormlands._

 _This did not mean that their responses were correct. Though, the Stormlands moved first, calling their banners and assembling at Blackhaven with the intention of striking at the Reach, who they believed to be responsible for the attack at Water Rush. The lords of the Reach, were confused themselves, as no indication of hostilities were present before the mobilization of Stormlander forces were reported by spies. An initial response force of thirty thousand was being gathered at Highgarden to face the Stormlanders when the Stormlanders suddenly turned around and marched in the opposite direction._

 _In hindsight, we can scoff at the indecision that plagued the Stormland lords as they took council in Grandview. However, one must remember that the Westerosi mindset barely allowed for thought outside the norm. If an attack came then it must be from their traditional rivals and maybe pirates if there should be any foolish enough to attack Westerosi shores. That was the sum of all their thoughts on the matter. After all, only once has such an invasion happened before. Fortunately for the Westerosi, despite being commanded by Durran the Unready, his young son was not of the same fiber. Rodrik, who would later become known as Rodrik the Wroth and one of Rome's greatest foes, spoke out in the council. Despite his youth, the Stormlanders listened._

 _The First Battle of the Wendwater was the ultimate clash between two vastly different and yet somewhat similar cultures. Of both cultures, a martial status was of the outmost importance. And yet the way in which each culture went about it were almost complete opposites and it showed in the composition of their respective forces._

 _The Westerosi military was built around a core of trained men-at-arms and knights which were supplemented by peasant levies. The primary tactics were to either pin the enemy line with the army's foot and then charge with knights to their flanks or to simply line up the knights in a single formation and charge at the enemy lines. Both of these tactics were favored almost to the exclusivity of any other as this allowed the mounted knights and men at arms to show off their valor and gain honor for defeating the most enemies as possible by themselves._

 _The Roman military was built completely differently. Almost all of the Roman forces were made up of foot soldiers with several alae of cavalry attached to the cohorts, either equestrians or mercenary cavalry. The favored tactics of the Roman army are more varied than the Westerosi. To save time only the tactics used during the battle will be discussed in this module. However before that, we must first discuss the composition of both forces prior to their clash, their armaments, numbers and morale._

 _First the Westerosi. The Stormlander army was typical for its time. Although the army had undergone a series of changes due to its experiences in warring with the armies of the Reach, which had a larger proportion of mounted knights to armed foot than any other region in Westeros, it did not mean that the changes were so much that they were unrecognizable from a typical Westerosi army. Due to their need to counter the more numerous knights of their rival, a core of eight thousand trained pikemen marched in the Stormlander army. They were armed with a 25 foot pike which was tipped steel. Armor throughout the Stormlander army was not standardized. Quality of armor and arms were dependent on their lord's material capability. Most of the pikemen wore a leather cuirass or if they were more fortunate, a chainmail hauberk._

 _Another four thousand were men at arms armed with swords while another five thousand were armed with spears. Both of these contingents were better armed, with chainmail hauberks as the norm while richer lords were able to give them a plate cuirass._

 _Of the cavalry, there were ten thousand of them. Three thousand of them were an assorted bunch of light cavalry armed for scouting and skirmishing. The remaining seven thousand were the lords, nobles and knights of the Stormlands. Most if not all wore full plate armor and were armed with a good sword and lance. All were mounted on war destriers bred for the purpose._

 _The remainder of their force was comprised of thirteen thousand peasant levies that were armed and armored with whatever was there to spare. Of their morale, the men at arms had years of training and experienced at fighting. The peasants had only a scant month to train though some of them had served in the previous war with the Reach. The only discipline most of them had was their fear of their lords._

 _Then we have the Roman army. The Roman army was divided into legions, each a group of about five thousand men each not counting accompanying cavalry. There were five legions under His Imperial Majesty during the battle._

 _Each man was armed with the scutum and gladius. Two to three pila had been issued to each man along with two stakes that they carried. All of them were armored with either chain, scale or plate mail. The Roman cavalry consisted of four thousand Gallic light cavalry and two thousand Roman equites. An additional force of two thousand knights of the newly absorbed lands of the Blackwater Bay and Cracklaw Point. None of which were believed to be dependable. The Roman Legions also had several batteries of artillery; four onager, eight ballista and twelve scorpions. Of discipline, one can say without guile or bias, that the Roman legionnaire was the most disciplined soldier to ever walk the earth.  
_

 _To summarize, the Stormlander forces numbered seven thousand heavy and three thousand light cavalry, eight thousand pikemen, five thousand spearmen, four thousand swordsmen and thirteen thousand peasant levy. These combined to number forty thousand men. No artillery was present in this force nor any ranged troops except for some of their skirmisher cavalry. The Roman forces had twenty-five thousand armored infantry and eight thousand cavalry of various reliability along with twenty-four pieces of artillery._

 _Preliminary estimations of the Stormlanders predicted overwhelming victory and the initial clashes seemed to prove this as truth and it would have been…._

 **\- Excerpt from The First Battle of the Wendwater 1 CA, authored by Alexandra Julia Caesar, Domina of Historia Romani, Primus Pedagogue in the Collegium de Roma. Circa 1309 CA**

 **XXX**

"Curse all those damn Gauls to the pits of Tartarus!" Caesar thundered. The command group was silent as Caesar's officers waited quietly for his rage to cool. It had been a rough few days for the Romans. When they had received news that the main army of the Stormlanders were finally marching on them and had passed Storm's End, Caesar ordered all the legions to be assembled from the different parts of the country they had been securing.

They immediately marched south to meet the Stormlanders, hoping to meet them before they passed the Wendwater. At first, things went well. The legionnaires marched at a good pace and they reached the Wendwater with no trouble. Then things began to unravel.

A downpour of rain turned the ground ahead of them into mud and brought in mists that obscured their vision. The rain raised the Wendwater water levels and forced the legions to use one ford to cross. This delayed the legions but Caesar decided to march ahead with the three legions that had been able to cross and leave the others to complete their crossing and follow him on their own. The rain slowed but mists surrounded them as they marched through the forest. The legions, already hampered by being on unfamiliar terrain, were forced to slow their advance as Caesar had no intention of walking into an ambush. The march finally led them out of the forest and into open ground. Caesar immediately sent out groups of his Gallic mercenaries to scout ahead of his forces.

The first signs of their enemy was when the scouting parties began running into small bands of the enemy's light skirmisher cavalry. Almost immediately, the enemy cavalry engaged the Gauls. In almost every single engagement, the Gallic cavalry were eventually driven back but not without inflicting loses on their opponents. Then Aeldric, the Aedui commander of the Gauls, spotted a large column of marching infantry. They were poorly armed and Aeldric, stung by the blows to his honor dealt by the failure of his scouts, gathered all of the Gallic cavalry and charged at the enemy.

They crashed straight into the enemy column and enemy infantry buckled under the charge. Flush with success, the Gauls failed to see the enemy armored cavalry crest the horizon and counter charge into their backs. Caesar was unable to send aid as only three of his five legions; the Seventh, Eighth and the Thirteenth had been able to fully assemble beyond the woods. The Eleventh and Caesar's beloved tenth were still back in the woods with their Westerosi allies.

Caesar immediately ordered the legions to form a battle line at the edge of the forest with the Seventh in the center, the Thirteenth on the right and the Eighth on the left. The enemy formed up in front of them but it was obvious this wasn't all of the enemy force assembled. They outnumbered the Romans though and even had pikes as their core line with a mix of swords and spears on each side. Their heavy cavalry were positioned on a small knoll to their left flank and remained there as the woods didn't allow for a cavalry charge.

Even so, the enemy was encouraged by the defeat of the Gallic cavalry and marched straight for the Roman line. The initial pila throw punched holes in the enemy lines but the pikes held strong and pushed forward. Unfortunately for them, the Romans knew how to fight against pike formations from their wars against Macedon.

While the Seventh held them, the Eighth and Thirteenth had slowly but surely ground forward. The legions opponents on the left and right were less armored and disciplined than their pike center. Whistles blew as the frontline exchanged places, moving to the rear of their lines and allowing those behind to push forward into the melee. As their opponents wore little to no armor only the weight of numbers allowed them to fight evenly for a while all the while receiving large casualties. Finally, the legionnaires began pushing the enemy flanks back and were about to turn on the pikes when the enemy heavy cavalry started moving.

Two alert centurions of the Thirteenth saw this and pulled their men back from the line to face the cavalry. The two centuries quickly placed their cavalry stakes in the ground and prepared to receive the enemy cavalry. It was at this moment Caesar spat out his curse at the Gauls. He had not intended to fight here but to the south west. If the Gauls hadn't engaged the enemy and been soundly defeated, he could have played a game of bait and catch, baiting the enemy into following him with his cavalry until he could arrive onto favorable ground. Though this place did offer some advantages because of the forest defending his flanks from cavalry charges.

He turned to Anthony who had held his equites in reserve. "Anthony, the Thirteenth won't be enough to hold that cavalry charge. I need you to form up the equites. As soon as the enemy cav hit our infantry line, I need you to slam into their backs."

Anthony saluted and was moving to his cornicen when several horns blew. Caesar cursed again as the rest of the enemy army crested the horizon behind the enemy cavalry and marched quickly to join the fray. He turned and his eyes met with Anthony's. Caesar's face morphed into a grim set while his brain flew at unbelievable speeds. They were already outnumbered by the enemy before the battle started. He had already received couriers from the Tenth and Eleventh. He knew they were about an hour away from his position. Their arrival would have helped at the start of the battle but now they were hopelessly outnumbered. The enemy center was holding firm. The enemy right had collapsed and the Eighth was just reforming to attack the enemy pikes. The enemy left was crumbling but the enemy heavy cavalry charge would be there before they would be able to rout the enemy. Even if he could hold until the other two legions linked up with him, he would be merely throwing good sesterces after bad. It would only result in more loses and might even finish them in this land forever. He twisted in the saddle and spat as if to spit in the face of Fortuna's cast die. No! This was not it. He would not let his people fade into nothing.

He began snapping orders. Two optios were send riding hard to the other two legions. The Tenth, he ordered to dig in around the road, really nothing more than a dirt trail, through the woods midway between the Wendwater and the battlefield. He would extract the legions from the battle and force march them to the Wendwater. The Tenth was to form an obstacle that the retreating legionnaires could get behind and slow the enemy advance. The Eleventh was ordered to march with all possible speed to the Wendwater. There they were to erect battle fortifications on the banks across the only ford that remained usable after the rain had swollen the Wendwater.

With that done, he turned his attention to perform one of the hardest maneuvers a general had to undertake; an orderly withdrawal from the midst of battle into a fighting retreat without letting it turn into a rout or a slaughter.

"Cornicen! Signal the Eighth to pull back to the treeline!" He yelled before turning to Anthony.

"Anthony, form up your men. We need those cav intercepted before they foul our lines. Can you stop them?" Their eyes met. Both of them knew what he was asking. For the Thirteenth to be able to withdraw, they needed to disengage. If the enemy cavalry crashed into them it would be an impossibility. Julius was asking if Anthony was willing to sacrifice his life and the lives of his men so the Thirteenth could escape. Anthony nodded and signaled his men.

The enemy heavy cavalry blew horns sounding their advance. They had to act quickly.

"Anthony!" Caesar called. Anthony turned and looked at him. "Don't lose your head."

Anthony laughed and waved his sword. "Same to you!"

Caesar quickly rode to the Eighth making sure that their withdrawal was orderly and quick. It was no difficulty as their opponents had fled. The legionnaires quickly ran to the treeline and reformed. Next Caesar signaled the Seventh, who began to slowly back away from the enemy pikeline. Knowing that pikes were too cumbersome to follow quickly, Caesar let out a small breath of relief as the enemy center seemed too tired to chase with any speed.

Caesar heard the horns and clash of cavalry to the left. Anthony's men had intercepted the enemy cavalry and were holding, for now. He and his guard rode hard for the center of the Thirteenth's formation. His cornicen was already blowing the notes for "Disengage, Infantry" but as the pressure was relieved from the center, the enemy took the chance to turn and face the Thirteenth's now exposed right flank. They were pikemen and therefore cumbersome and their formations did not lend any grace in changing direction but they were doing it. If they completed their maneuver, the Thirteenth would be trapped. Suddenly an idea popped into his head.

"Quickly! Sound Form Square by Cohort!" He ordered urgently to his cornicen. The clear notes of command cut through the air and the effect was almost instantaneous. Seasoned centurions turned their men and collapsed the line into ten dense blocks of shielded infantry. The enemy, shocked and tired, were unable to capitalize on the loss of pressure. Neither could they break through the densely packed squares.

Caesar's cornicen sounded out his orders. "By Cohort, Withdraw, Double Time" Caesar felt like a maestro of a play or as an aedile of the games. He felt pride as the legionnaires shifted in step with his orders. Every other cohort withdrew at a brisk pace, leaving a checkered space in between them and their fellows. It was the Triplex Acies but instead of using it to advance, he was using it to retreat in good order. It was working but he could see the men glancing around them as they wondered why they were pulling back when they had been winning the battle.

He knew his blade was unneeded and indeed would be a foolish venture to risk it. He halted his guard at a small rise in full view of his men. He then sat up straight as if on the parade ground, as if he expected his men to march with back straight and head held high.

It worked. As soon as some of the men spotted him they told their companions and they took a glance at him. As news of his presence spread through the cohorts, discipline and morale improved. Their general was watching. They would not fail under his watch. The orderly withdrawal continued until the Thirteenth reach the trees. The cornicen sounded his final order "Legio, Withdraw" and his legionnaires sprinted into the woods. Then and only then did Caesar turn his eyes to where Anthony and the equites had fought their own engagement. All he could see were bodies. A tear ran down his cheek. He nodded to his guard and they too rode into the woods.

 **XXXX**

 **A/N: Here you go guys. The first part of the battle of the Wendwater. Hope you like it. I would appreciate it if you review so I can get feedback.**

 **Caesar's Legions – VII, VIII, X, XI, XIII**


	6. Chapter 6 - The First Battle Part 2

**A/N: Hello hello. Sorry for the wait guys. Exams and requirements were killing me last month. I'm also running out of titles to pair with The Eagle. Anyways, here's part two of the battle.**

 **A/N Edited 10-31-2019**

 **I fixed the fire command.**

 **Chapter 6**

 **The Wendwater**

Anthony grunted as his spear was ripped out of his grasp. The charge of the equites was met squarely by the enemy horsemen but to Anthony's dismay, most of the downed were Romans. He steeled himself as he drew his spatha. He had dismissed the cavalry of this land when he had first seen them. They had larger horses and used contraptions to ride them. Now while having bigger horses meant a more powerful charge, he had not known what effect the saddle and stirrup would have in battle. Now he did. Those of his men that hadn't been killed outright in the charge had been knocked off their horses. The enemy lances smashed into the large oblong shields with such force that many shattered to bits.

To his shock and dismay when his equites hit the enemy with the same force, most of the time, the enemy combatant would reel back in his saddle but maintain his seat on the horse. When Anthony saw the rider in front of him rise in his saddle and deliver a blow to one of his men that shattered his skull, he came to a conclusion then and there.

Rome must take this technology and make it its own. After the Marian reforms, they had done away with a dedicated cavalry force and had instead relied on their auxiliaries to provide them with cavalry. This was no longer feasible. They had arrived in a land where horsemen had a distinct advantage. No, for them to survive, they needed this. The enemy rider turned to him and the next moments left no room for thought.

Anthony dodged blow after blow and returning his own. However, as time progressed, Anthony noticed that his attacks merely bounced off the enemy's plate armor while he was pretty sure if he let the enemy get one solid blow in he would be dead. He could hear the enemy's laughter as his horse tossed its head at him. Anthony suddenly had an idea. He slashed with all his might.. at the unarmored head of his enemy's horse. The poor animal stood no chance and collapsed. The enemy rider's squawk of indignation was priceless as he went down with the horse, entangled in his stirrups.

Anthony's exhilaration was cut short as his horse was killed from under him. Having no stirrups to tangle him, he kicked away and rolled to the ground. A moment later he leaped up. With the strength of desperation, he scrambled up the side of his new opponent's horse and drove his sword up under the helm, killing his foe instantly. Then he pushed the body of the horse and found himself in control of a new horse with the technology that was defeating his men. His feet sought the stirrups instinctively as the horse reared. Bringing his new horse under control, he could not help but marvel at the ease with which he kept his seat.

Turning his attention back to the fight, he noticed that the battle between the two cavalry forces had moved from the open terrain where they had met to the forest. Two enemy riders spotted him riding the horse of their companion, made noticeable by a small shield painted with two swans, one white and the other black, facing each other on fields of their opposite color. His sword being stuck in his horse's former owner, he looked around for a weapon. He found it hanging from the horn of his saddle. It looked like a club but the head of it had large wicked sections that flared out from the main body. Anthony didn't know it but he had found a flanged mace and this weapon like the saddle and stirrup would revolutionize Roman warfare. But Anthony was clearly not thinking of the weapon's future applications. He was much more interested in its immediate effect.

He ducked the first enemy's sword swing and lifted himself in the saddle like he had seen the enemy do countless times throughout the battle and brought the weapon down on the second enemy that had charged behind the first one. The weapon pierced the enemy's helmet and he collapsed in his saddle as he rode by. Anthony swiftly wheeled his horse around to face the first enemy who had just turned his own horse. They both kicked their horses forward. As they closed, Anthony leaned away from the charging foe and with the weight of his body behind it, swung his captured weapon at the enemy's chest. The result was the same as before. The metal plate was pierced and with a cry, the enemy slid from his saddle.

"Sir!" A voice behind him called and Anthony turned, ready to bash another foe. Only it was no foe. It was his own signifier accompanied by fifty of his men. He was still panting but he snapped out an order to report. The situation was grim. Out of two thousand equites, only about two hundred were in the immediate area. The rest were either dead or scattered to all over to Hades. There was no way around it. They had lost this engagement completely. Anthony didn't even know if he had been able to buy enough time for… NO!

He knew his friend. Julius would not allow his men's sacrifice to be in vain. He needed to withdraw and regroup. He quickly ordered his men to gather nearby enemy horses or if there weren't any they were to loot the dead ones of their saddles. The signifier was blowing the "Recall" signal over and over as his men set to work. He continued the grim task of gathering the remnants of his force together.

 **XXX**

 **The Stormlanders**

Rodrick watched with fascination as the knights smashed into the enemy light cavalry. The clash was short and bloody but the enemy was soon sent fleeing to the woods. Rodrick's father had divided the Stormlander army into two detachments. The advance detachment had been led by Lord Connington while the other was led by his father.

The Lord Connington had been decidedly aggressive with his movements. Even as the surprise attack on his marching column was happening, the Griffin lord was already riding forward, sounding the call for the knights to form up behind him. He had been in the thick of the clash as they drove the enemy light cavalry from the field. Then he had turned around and organized their forces to face the remaining enemy. Their morale boosted by small victory early on, the men rushed into formation quickly, eager to win glory and plunder.

The enemy however were a sight. Even to Rodrick's inexperienced eye, they were equal parts impressive and terrifying. They stood in straight orderly lines, not a man out of place, under their strange banners. Though Rodrick was among the command group, he was only allowed to observe this battle. No interference was to be made in whatever form. He merely sat on his horse on a small knoll as they observed the battle. As his eyes darted across the battlefield he could not help but admire the enemy's gleaming armor.

"Impressive are they not?" A voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned and saw that Lord Connington had nudged his horse next to his.

"As far as we can see, each and every one of them are armed and armored identically." Lord Connington sratched his chin.

"What does that mean, my lord?" Rodrick asked politely.

"It means we fight no barbarian horde." Lord Connington grunted as the Stormlander forces closed. "Orderly lines, identical arms.. This does not bode well."

Lord Connington's eyes narrowed as the forces clashed. The enemy line had not budged an inch. For a while, the forces were even but then inexplicably their forces were being slowly pushed back. Lord Connington cursed. "Their pushing the flanks back, they'll grind the pikes to bits!"

Despite their numerical superiority, they were losing. Rodrick watched as the Griffin lord had quickly ordered his second, Ser Jon Swann heir to House Swann, to lead a charge around the enemy's right flank, to fall upon the enemy infantry line's rear. The enemy spotted them and pulled several units of men to face the cavalry movement. It would seem that their moved had been countered and Rodrick could see that Lord Connington was searching for a way to change their situation when horns sounded off behind them.

There was initial panic, fear that the enemy had somehow gotten behind them but the horns sounded again and the second Stormlander detachment crested the horizon. All the Stormlanders present breathed a sigh of relief.

The battle was now in their favor and Lord Connington could see that the enemy knew it too. But it was altogether too late. It would take a miracle for the enemy to withdraw from the battle in any sort of order to avoid a massacre… or so it seemed to the Westerosi military mind.

A flash of red came out of the woods. At first its significance was unnoticed by the Westerosi command party. It was subtle but the Griffin lord noticed a stiffening in the enemy lines. Then he spotted a standard carrying a golden eagle following the blob of red capped cavalry that rode out of the woods. Blasts from a horn like instrument sounded out and the enemy lines shifted. They were pulling back!

"THERE!" Lord Connington shouted. "ORDER THE TROOPS FORWARD! NOW!" The pike line pushed forward ever so slowly. A glance toward the flank showed the knights locked in charge and counter charge but were driving the enemy cavalry from the field, soon they would return and crash into the enemy infantry line's rear. Then several notes rent the air.

To the collective shock of the Westerosi, the enemy immediately formed into neat squares. SQUARES! What?! All attempts to break them failed as the men faltered. Another set of notes pealed out and the enemy squares retreated in good order, alternating with the square beside them so that while one retreated, it was covered by the squares on its right and left. Not a man of the enemy was out of step with his fellows, each perfectly moving with the square whether fighting or retreating.

Snapping himself out of his stupor, he turned to reinforce orders to his cavalry when he saw, with anger and dismay, that their knights had chased the enemy cavalry into the woods.

"Curse that Swann fool. I'll have his ears when he returns!" Lord Connington roared. He now had no reserves to throw at the enemy. His men were completely exhausted and battered from the battle to give chase. The flanks of his army were horribly mangled, especially the right, the left flank had crumbled and fled. Only the center, held by the Stormlander pikemen, was in any coherent form and even if they hadn't taken casualties from enemy javelins, were still exhausted.

Never before had the Griffin Lord seen such a display of supreme discipline. He now understood that group that rode out of the woods must be their general. He had to admire the training, organization and discipline these invaders had instilled into their men. He gave a nod of respect to the enemy general for extracting his men intact from their near sure demise.

"Chase them! Crush them!" A young voice cried out. Lord Connington turned and saw young Rodrick point at the enemy and move as if to give chase.

"Enough, young lord." He ordered.

Rodrick turned, angry and confused. "What?! What cowardice is this? The enemy flees the battle and we remain like dung on the field?"

"Watch your tongue, boy!" Lord Connington snapped. "You may be our future liege lord but that does not give you leave to give insult."

"I shall not stand idly by! I know the enemy is broken-.."

"YOU KNOW NOTHING!" The Griffin Lord roared as he rose in his stirrups. "BE SILENT ON THINGS WHICH YOU ARE IGNORANT!"

Rodrick Durrandon wheeled his horse and rode away toward his father's contingent.

Silence reigned before the lord of Bronzegate spoke. "The young lord will remember that, Jon."

"Aye, yet I fear we have not enough time to correct his notions of our enemy." Jon Connington looked grimly toward where the last of the enemy were disappearing into the woods. "We have not crushed the enemy and yet we did not have enough strength to crush him when we had the chance. This will bite us in the arse."

 **XXX**

 _The first part of the battle of the Wendwater was fought a few miles from Bronzegate at the edge of the Wendwood in the early hours of the morning. The Roman legions retreated in good order to the Wendwater while the Stormlander army advanced slowly in pursuit. The Roman legions had suffered two hundred dead and more than three hundred wounded among the infantry, discipline and tactics keeping losses to a minimum though the fact that the first part of the battle had lasted only two hours contributed to this. The Stormlanders had lost significantly more with two thousand killed and a greater number wounded while about three thousand men had routed and fled the battlefield._

 _With Westerosi dominance in cavalry technology, however, the cavalry engagement had cost the Romans significantly more. Of the four thousand Gallic cavalry that went on the field, more than two thousand were lost in the initial stages of the battle. Their Roman counterparts faired only marginally better, having lost all but three hundred. The higher losses were caused by the higher discipline among the Roman equites and therefore, their desperate fight to stall the superior enemy cavalry.._

 **-Excerpt from Blood on the Land, authored by Maester Janos Flowers Discipulus, Historicus to the Imperial Julii. Circa 05**

 **With the Romans**

Caesar had successfully pulled all his men back to the Wendwater. When he had first retreated from the battle, he had assumed that the enemy would give chase immediately with their secondary army. When they failed to, Caesar wasted not a moment in ordering the Tenth back to the Wendwater.

The legions had double timed it to the river in the fear that the enemy was hot on their heels. When reports from the few remaining scout riders in Caesar's retinue reported that the enemy was marching at a pace that would see them at the Wendwater well past nighfall, the legions at Julius' order, fell to strengthening their defenses.

Anchoring their left flank to the northern tributary of the Wendwater, the Romans dug a trench the height of a man and wide enough that a horse could not jump. The earth, they used to build a rampart that they topped with wood. At regular intervals, a platform made from part earth and wood was raised and a siege engine was mounted. At this Janos wondered. For what reason would you need siege weapons for a battle? Were they not only useful in a siege?

The rampart and trench were studded with wooden stakes driven into the earth. The defenses were shaped in a slanted L with the lower part of the letter shaped defense slanting diagonally over the road. Maester Janos had watched in wonder as the Romans constructed the defenses. Every man worked tirelessly with grim purpose through the night as another scouting report had the enemy camped out a few miles away. He stared in confusion as the Romans moved the chopped off tops and branches of the trees felled for the walls over several flimsy structures that were over the trenches.

Soon enough, the scouts ran up the Roman lines alerting them of the enemy's movement. Lines of torches were to be seen in the distance as small flickers of light in the dark dawning woods. As much of the work that could be done had been finished an hour or so before and the legionnaires were given an hour to quench their thirsts and rest a bit before the battle.

Finally, Caesar ordered the men into formation with blasts of the horn. The enemy reacted by moving toward the sounds. Soon, the enemy forces could be seen by the torches they brought. Julius ordered that the men on the walls raise torches of their own and the new lights attracted the enemy like moths to the flame. The Romans gave a cry that the enemy returned. The enemy were at the banks of the river and though the river was deep, the ford that the road used was still passable. The splash of water as the enemy forded the river, each man eager to claim glory before his fellows.

Then the enemy cavalry charged. A thunder, deep, rolling, unending as they came closer. The enemy infantry ran as well, though their speed was nothing compared to their cavalry, the river slowed down the horses enough for the men to ford with them.

The mass of men roared as they closed, seemingly unstoppable. The enemy horsemen edged out front as their powerful horses charged ahead. They smelt blood and would have it.

Then the enemy cavalry reached the trench.

CRASH!

The screams of the horses was terrible to be heard as man and beast tumbled into the gaping hole. Cries of pain and death echoed through the woods. The enemy vanguard vanished before the sight of the advance but the momentum of the charge was no small thing to stop. Hundreds of men and horses tumbled down, to be impaled on the stakes or crushed by the weight of their own men. Those that were able to skid to a stop at the edge were then pushed in by those behind them. The cries of distress rent the air as the charge faltered.

Then Caesar raised an arm and lowered it. "LOOSE!"

 **A/N: HAHAHA! YES I am an utter arse hehehehe! Cliffhanger peeps!**

 **I had to rewrite this thing twice on the laptop and three additional times in my head. Hope you like it. Or rather, hope its enough of a cliffhanger for you guys! HEHEHEHE**


	7. Chapter 7 - The First Battle Part 3

**Hey guys. Its been a while. Sorry. Been really busy.. Life as a student taking his Masters is more time intensive than I thought. Also, there are definitely going to be more worldbuilding after this chapter since the last few chapters was setting the stage for Caesar and his men to actually survive in Westeros. The Coronavirus has forced me to stay home so I guess there is a silver lining to having a worldwide pandemic, that being I was able to find the time to write hehe. Anyway, ignore my humor. Please tell what you guys think.**

 **Chapter VII**

" _Three things are needed for a battle. Terrain, your men and the enemy. The outcome of the battle will be determined by the numbers on either side and your use of the terrain."_

 **\- Julius Caesar, The Ways of War, 1 CA**

 **XXX**

Rodrick had been asleep in one of the wagons carting the army's supplies when the first disastrous charge had occurred. The screams of horses and dying men woke him with a start.

He rose from his bedroll and leaped from the wagon to a disorganized mess. Not that any army of Westeros was organized except for the more professional Westerlander armies but it was still more chaotic than usual. The wagons that were part of the supply train was maybe an hour or two behind the rest of the army. Rodrick had been ordered by his father to remain with the baggage train. it left no doubt in Rodrick's mind that he was being punished for daring to highlight his father's indecisiveness and lack of leadership to his lords.

He had obeyed his father, even as he protested, he knew that he had no choice but to obey. His father was still the Stormking and he was still just the heir. He had obeyed with the supreme confidence that the enemy was beaten and all that was left was to run the remnants down.

The screams knocked some of that confidence from him but he reasoned that it may merely be the death cries of the enemy. As the screams accompanied by the sounds of battle continued unabated, Rodrick grew ever agitated. He tried to ask what was happening but none of the guards or the servants knew exactly what was happening. Cursing, he ordered a horse be readied for him. After some wrangling with his guards, he rode for the battle.

That ride was one he would never forget. At first, he passed contingents of men that had been positioned towards the rear of the pursuit. They were supremely confident as he was that the enemy were routing. They complained loudly that there would be nothing left to loot by the time they arrived on the battlefield.

As Rodrick rode closer to the front, he began seeing signs of the battle. The numbers of wounded men being dragged, carried and carted to the rear grew the closer he and his entourage came to the front. These men were not boasting of future glory and loot to be taken. Instead they were screaming in pain, cursing the gods or crying for their mothers.

Rodrick grimaced as he passed them but urged his horse to run faster. A shocking sight greeted their eyes. What was meant to be a simple chase of defeated enemy army had turned into a horrible quagmire of blood and slaughter.

The road ran up to the ford and into the woods that lead up to the coast of the Blackwater. The enemy had built a high wooden wall as far as the eye could see. The wreckage of several charges lay piled up before it. The bodies piled atop each other until there was only around eight feet between the bodies and the top of the wooden palisade.

Rodrick spotted his father's banner clumped up with several of his lords and rode for it. He came upon a savage argument among the lords.

"We are wasting our men!" screamed Lord Swann.

"What would you have us do? Retreat?" snapped Rodrick's father.

One of the lords Rodrick could not see muttered. "Just because you've lost your nerve at the loss of your son…"

Lord Swann reared back. "How dare you! I'll have your head for this." He roared as he leaped at the speaker.

The men tumbled for a few seconds before they were pulled apart by an irate Lord Connington. "Have you gone mad?" He demanded. "The enemy is in front of us. Pull your heads out of your asses and get it together!"

The two men bristled but quieted down somewhat before the arguments began again. Rodrick pushed through the crowd of arguing lord to slip in beside Lord Connington.

"What happens here, Lord Connington?" He asked as soon as he was close enough to be heard.

Lord Connington looked at him for a moment then gave a grim chuckle. "We've been suckered, lad." A few lords around the two turned at the explanation and gave their own grunts of acknowledgement to the truth of that statement.

"The enemy had prepared defenses before we met them in battle at Bronzegate." Lord Connington continued. "Smart bastards. Their scouts must have reported our numbers so they built these defenses to break the bulk of our army. They then used a small portion of their forces to lure us in. Crafty bastard, whoever their commander is." He snapped his finger at the fortifications. "Thing is, they have us. With the Wendwater flooded, it is a struggle to get across. Then with our men tired, we face a fresh enemy behind fortifications."

Lord Connington's explanation was interrupted by a faint woooshing sound followed by a crash close by. The entire group of lords hit the ground except for Lord Connington, who sniffed and took a gulp from a wineskin at his hip. "Oh and their gods-damned siege equipment are pounding the Seven hells out of us."

"S-siege equipment?!" Rodrick squeaked.

"Aye. Barbarians they are not." Lord Connington grunted. "At least we filled that blasted trench" He growled angrily.

"Trench?" Rodrick frowned. There was no trench.

As if reading his mind, Lord Connington's macabre chuckle. "Lad, there's no longer a trench… Because we filled it… with our bodies…"

 **XXX**

 **The Romans**

Julius squinted as the sun's rays disappeared slowly through woods. If he had to guess, more than half of the enemy had crossed the river and were assaulting his position. The other half was milling around on the banks with barely any order.

The enemy had fallen straight into his trap. A large portion of their cavalry had died in the opening stages of the battle. The rest were competing with their infantry in trying to scale the wall with nothing but the piled up bodies of their comrades.

His siege weapons were wreaking havoc among the densely packed attackers. The stones thrown would bounce several times, each bounce shattering and pulverizing several dozen men at once. The ballista bolts would punch through several men and then skewer half a dozen men when they finally came to rest. Julius noticed that whenever the targets killed where footmen that were lightly armored, the ones surrounding them flinched but pressed on. However, when those killed were the heavily armored men, the men around them paused in their advance until another heavily armored man would bellow them forward.

This confirmed his theory that the enemy was structured close to the Gauls in the sense that their nobility almost always trained and fought as cavalry. There was no doubt in his mind that for his men to survive the coming years, they would have to adapt. They needed their own heavy cavalry forces to counter those native to this land. On the other hand, much of the native infantry were of subpar quality. Most were likely conscripted from their peacetime occupations and given a few weeks training.

 _Quite similar to the citizen militias of Greece then_. Caesar mused. _That would make the "men-at-arms" the regular troops of their army and these "knights" the Greek hippeis or perhaps their variant of Alexander the Great's Companion Cavalry._ Except these ones could fight almost as effectively on foot as on horseback.

The enemy seemed determined to break through his fortifications. It was strange that they didn't try to flank his position. He had reports from his scouts that there was at least one ford deeper into the forest that wasn't completely submerged by the river. Well, if they wanted to pay in blood for scaling his walls then he would oblige them. Their losses were mounting and they couldn't sustain this for long.

Sure enough, several horns sounded and the attacking troops withdrew to just beyond the river. Though they were still in range of his artillery, he had ordered a halt in their fire. This was both to conserve ammunition and to try to fool the enemy into thinking that he had run out of ammunition.

He had already pulled three legions off the line. They were given orders to quickly ford the river and circle around the enemy rear. They had to be at the enemy's rear by dawn but when they were the legions would give three full blasts of their cornu and rush the enemy flanks. Until then, he and his remaining legionnaires would have to hold back an enemy at least three times his numbers.

"Sir!" Publius Licinius Crassus, one of his commanders, called out. He was pointing to where a clump of the enemy were chopping down trees.

"Ahh…" Julius turned to his men. "It seems that our enemy possess brains after all. I was worried we would have to slaughter them all before they scale the wall."

Their laughter filled the air as Caesar ordered the men to get as much rest as possible. Night was falling soon. He doubted the enemy would try a major assault at night but he kept one legion on alert while the other rested.

For now, there was nothing left to do but wait. At midnight, Caesar left the wall and walked into the camp. The sentries he passed, stiffened and saluted before carrying on their duties. Most of those in the camp were trying to get what sleep they could. Caesar was heartened to see that the few men that were still awake remained in high spirits and were eager to face the enemy in combat once again.

He exchanged a few words of greeting and encouragement as he passed them. As he neared the center of the camp, he stopped before a white tent. This was the tent of the augury. Here, the earth was dedicated to represent the hearth of the city of Rome. An augury was the searching for the signs of the will of the gods in the behavior of birds or the weather. Inside the tent were a cage that held the sacred chickens, a bag of feed for them, a table with several tablets that detailed the meanings of all the possible auguries that an augur might find and a small altar. As the overall commander of the army, Caesar was the one empowered to search for the signs for his army. This was done from midnight till the dawn of the day of a certain undertaking. However, at this specific time, Caesar was not here to take an augury. Even if it wasn't Rome, this patch of earth had been consecrated and designated as Rome's hearth. This was where he felt closest to the gods and to his home.

Caesar knelt in prayer. He prayed for Anthony, who he had not heard a word since the initial skirmish. If he were alive, then Caesar prayed that Apollo and Minerva give him wisdom and health. If he be dead then Caesar asked Charon to ferry Anthony's soul across the Styx, for Pluto to accept it into the fields of Elysium. For Caesar's men, he prayed for Mars and Jupiter to give them strength for the next day's battle. For his dead, he prayed for Nemesis to aid them in striking down those that dared take their lives and to Nike to give them victory. Finally, his thoughts turned homeward. He prayed for Julia, his little jewel, all that he had left of his wife. He prayed to Juno to bless her marriage with Pompey. He prayed to Apollo to ever keep her in good health, to Bacchus to liven up her life and finally to Venus and Cupid to bless her life with love.

 **XXX**

 **The Stormlander Camp**

Dawn was shattered by three trumpet blasts followed immediately after by thunderous roar and the thundering of hooves. Cries of confusion went up in the camp as men were rudely awakened. Dazed and confused, they rushed out of their tents. They had barely any time to grab their weapons and most of them didn't even have their armor on.

Cries of, "ENEMY!" sounded from the rear of the camp. The lords and knights soon began barking orders but as they did more horn and trumpet blasts echoed through the air. A large block of cavalry was rampaging through the camp.

The banners of the Houses of Crackclaw Point flew proudly as the knights under those banners rode down helpless infantry, hacking and slashing their way through the shocked and dismayed rabble of an army. On the flanks of those banners were the light cavalry of their enemy. Half naked blond haired barbarians that screamed as much as Dothraki screamers and fought just as savagely. Armored soldiers on horseback that supported the charge with calm discipline. And finally, a horde of those iron-willed soldiers they had been fighting for the past few days.

The sight of bannermen of Houses that were supposed to be their allies slaughtering their men alongside the Enemy was a sight that many soldiers could not comprehend. Even as the lords tried to establish order, the men wavered. Then the walls at their backs open and another flood of infantry was let loose on their rear. With that, the line that had been tentatively forming shattered. The men of the Stormlands broke and ran.

 **XXX**

" _Cowards the lot of them! They hid behind their walls the entire time! They have no stomach for real battle! All they know is to hide behind walls and hit when one's back is turned! COWARDS!"_

 **\- Rodrick Durrandon**


	8. Chapter 8 - Dreams

**A/N: Rejoice! For here comes another chapter! I made a mistake. The Marcus Licinius Crassus I wrote in the last chapter was the eldest son of THE Marcus Licinius Crassus of the First Triumvirate. Marcus Licinius Crassus the Elder had two sons; Marcus Licinius Crassus the Younger and Publius Licinius Crassus. I thought that Marcus the Younger was alive during this time but only Publius lived and served with Julius Caesar. I went and fixed that. The one with Caesar is Publius Licinius Crassus.**

 **To that other reviewer, I know that the Roman goddess of victory is Victoria but that sounds too English so I'm going with Nike. Sounds more Ancient World hehe. Besides, the Romans were well known to have copied many things. Their pantheon is almost the exact same thing that the Greeks have only with a more martial bent and Roman names.**

 **Chapter VIII**

 **Dreams**

 _The Battle of the Wendwater was over. It had been an unmitigated disaster for the Stormlands. Before the battle, the Stormlands had been ascendant. Preceding Storm Kings had waged multiple successful wars on their borders against all their neighbors._

 _They had expanded their control in the Dornish Marches several generations before this. They had defeated House Fisher, which ruled over the Riverlands, winning control over the lands the Riverlanders held sway around Cracklaw Point and had subdued the rest of the more independent lords in that area. And, of course, they had just recently defeated the Reach and took Tumbleton from them._

 _They had a battle-hardened, well-trained and more importantly, a victorious army that was the envy of all of Westeros. Perhaps, eventually, they could have pushed up the Riverlands and conquered it. Perhaps they could have conquered the Reach itself and would have then established itself as the most powerful kingdom Westeros had ever seen._

 _That was the future for the Stormlands right up until the Battle of the Wendwater. After the Wendwater.. It changed the fate of the Stormlands.. No… It changed the fate of Westeros itself!_

 **Accounts of the Stormlands 50 CA, authored by Maester Balwik, Maester to Storm's End**

 **XXX**

Julius laughed as Anthony leaped from his horse and bounded over to embrace him. Both men slapped each other's back as they reveled in the heady feeling of victory and the thankfulness that they were alive. All was well in the world.

"It is good to see you alive, my friend." Caesar said. "I had feared the worst. Imagine my surprise when you appear like a ghost among my flanking force!"

Anthony smiled. "Likewise." Long years serving Julius had taught him many of his friend and commander's quirks. What he was actually asking was how in Hades had he found the battle.

"After the rout, I spent most of the time gathering as much of our scattered cavalry forces together. It was only on the next day was I able to complete this task. After that I rode until I found camp of our recently acquired allies. From them I received the latest news on what was happening. From look of things, you were going to launch a flanking attack within the next few days so I gathered them to me and we rode to the enemy rear where we met the flanking forces." Caesar laughed and thanked the gods. Good subordinates were such a treasure. The battle would have been more brutal and would have cost him more casualties than they had taken if they had gone with his original plan.

The victorious Roman legionnaires looted the battlefield of anything of use. Julius had given specific orders to gather all horses and their equipment as could be found. The men were already arguing on what they would be doing with the enemies that they would enslave. As the surrendering enemy army was lined up to divest them of their equipment, Caesar noticed a delegation of their nobles had approached Maester Janos. After a few words, he nodded and walked over to where Julius and his officers were clustered.

"My lords." Janos called out. He waved a hand toward the delegation. "They wish to ask what terms do you demand of them?"

Caesar's smile seemed almost predatory. "Ah yes.. Terms. Yes, let us talk terms."

All weapons, armor, horses and other accoutrements of war that the Stormlanders had brought with them were forfeit as spoils of war. A ransom for every lord and knight to be determined depending on the lord's wealth and status while a tribute of fifteen thousand pounds of grain or other foodstuffs a month and twenty thousand gold coins a year for five years. These terms weren't as heavy since the tournaments that the Westerosi were so fond of, and threw every few months, regularly had winner's prizes of fifty thousand gold coins. However, this was made difficult by the last part of the terms imposed on them.

All the land from Cracklaw Point to Maidenpool, down to the Blackwater Rush and Tumbleton, turning up from Fawnton and following the Wendwater to Blackwater Bay, all these territories were to be ceded to the Romans. These absolutely humiliating terms basically tore the Kingdom of the Stormlands in half.

As almost all of the lords of the Stormlands had been captured and held by the Romans, they had no choice but to accept the terms imposed in exchange for their freedom and a mere five-year truce. Once the terms were finalized and accepted, Caesar allowed a third of the lesser lords to leave under escort to their lands so as to spread the word of the outcome of the battle as well as raise the funds for both the ransom and tribute.

The Roman escorts were all chosen for their experience in scouting and observation. They were tasked with the primary role of surveying the lands of the Stormlanders, especially the forts and cities that they passed by or entered while the role of escorting the prisoners was relegated as secondary. As any commander worth his salt knew, information is power. There was no doubt in Caesar's mind that the Stormlanders would try to regain their lost honor sometime down the road. It was not a question of if but when.

When conflict resumed, Caesar would need more detailed maps of his enemy's lands. He also needed information on the other surrounding kingdoms. He had no idea what their reaction to his victory would be. Whether they would be jubilant at the defeat of one of their rival kingdoms or be enraged at the destruction of an ally. He couldn't fully trust the report on the local political situation that Janos had given them. After all, he had been a maester serving under the Stormlanders before his capture. He and his men were the only Romans that existed in these lands. He shuddered at the thought. He needed to be careful with them. One wrong decision and he would doom them all to an inglorious death.

 _Well, enough of that for now. First, we divide the spoils. Tomorrow, we worry about our deaths._

 **XXX**

 **The Vision**

 _ **An eagle's cry reverberated in the air. It was a great and majestic, as if sent from the throne of Jupiter himself. Its feathers were of gold, it's eyes were of shining rubies, it's beak and claws were of unbreakable steel. In its left claw was clutched a laurel of victory and in its right it carried a slave's collar. Beneath it was a battered and wounded stag. The eagle landed on the stag's back and placed the collar on the stag's neck. It then raised its beak and pealed out a challenge to the skies.**_

 _ **To the west, a mighty lion climbed out of its den with claws of iron and fur of pure gold. To the north, a snarling wolf, cunning and vicious, came bounding down. From the east, a falcon, swift and agile, took flight from its high roost. From the south, vines and vipers erupted from the earth.**_

 _ **They each in turn tore at the mighty eagle. For a time, the eagle held its own, tearing chunks of flesh from each of its opponents. But then the creatures united against the eagle. The mighty lion cut off the eagle's beak, the cunning wolf broke the eagle's wing, the falcon gouged out an eye, the vipers injected their poisons into the eagle's body and finally, the vines wrapped around the eagle and dragged it down through the earth and into Tartarus.**_

 _ **Then, as if the sands of time were being blown the opposite direction, the events that had passed reversed. Suddenly, the eagle was once again triumphant over the stag. But this time, the eagle held no slave's collar.**_

 _ **The vines and vipers coiled around the eagle's feet as it tore into a fish. The mighty lion and the swift falcon came against the eagle as the corpse of the stag rotted. The cunning wolf remained aloof, caring not for anything but its own pack. As time passed, the eagle grew larger and stronger until all bowed to the eagle's might and majesty.**_

 **XXX**

 **The Camp**

Caesar woke with a gasp, a cold sweat covering his whole body. He squeezed a hand to his forehead before stumbling to the table in his tent where a pitcher of wine was placed. Taking a cup, he gulped it down, savoring the taste.

"What in the name of the gods was that?" He murmured. He stared out the tent door as the light of torches illuminated the flaps of the tent. He was taking his second glass when he heard several shouts coming from the tents around him. Grabbing his sword, he rushed out of the tent only to nearly collide with Publius Crassus.

"General!" The young man gasped. "I've had a vision from the gods!"

Caesar frowned and was about to speak when Anthony came out of his tent. "Gods curse this wine. I'm hallucinating! Eagles, wolves, lions and snakes! My head must still be soused."

Caesar grabbed Anthony by the arm. "Did you have a vision too?"

"What? Vision?" Anthony mumbled, confused.

"Of a golden eagle beset on all sides by powerful creature?!" Publius squawked.

Caesar turned to him, mouth agape. They stood there, stock still, staring at each other. Their staring contest was interrupted by a clearing of a throat. The three commanders turned. Every single Primus Pilus of the legions had gathered along with several of the senior centurions from each legion.

"General." Gaius Crastinus stepped forward. Crastinus was one of Caesar's best men, having served under Caesar for seven years as a centurion in the Tenth. Early in the campaigns of Gallia, Crastinus had commanded his unit as it repelled an attempted crossing of a river by the Helvetii. Caesar quickly came to rely on him as his loyalty and personal valor were beyond measure. After many more feats of bravery and strength, Caesar had promoted him to the rank of Primus Pilus or First Spear, the most senior centurion of Caesar's beloved Tenth.

As Primus Pilus, he commanded the first cohort which marched at the front of every marching column and formed up on the first file of the right flank, a place of great trust. AS the most senior of the centurions, only eight other officers were above the Primus Pilus. These were the legate called the legatus legionis, who commanding the legion; the senior tribune called the tribunus laticlavius who was second-in-command of the legion; the Camp Prefect called the praefectus castrorum and the five other tribunes called the tribuni angusticlavii, who served as senior staff officers to the legate. And of course, the general or consul in charge of the army that the legion was part of.

"The men have been having… dreams, sir."

"All of them?" Caesar asked. His officers understood the question.

"Yes sir." All of them, even the centurions.

"Did these dreams all have an eagle in them?"

The centurions nodded, their faces clearly worried. Caesar knew what they were asking. As commander of the army, he had the role of divining the will of the gods before a battle. As they were far from home, he was the closest thing the legions had to a priest. He grimaced before waving for the men to follow him.

The group walked in silence towards the tent of augury. As they walked, the men of legions came out of their tents to first stare at them, then follow them. This kept happening until a huge crowd of men surround the group as they walked. The men themselves knew where their officers where walking to and those crowding ahead, parted to let them through.

Upon arriving at the tent of augury, the centurions formed up leading into the entrance of the tent. Caesar gave all his men a nod before entering the tent.

Caesar began his prayers as he lit the altar. In it he placed incense and paused, waiting until the incense had enveloped the tent. When the tent was filled to his satisfaction, he removed his sword and placed it on the ground before him. Then he knelt in submission before the gods.

Several hours passed as the men waited anxiously outside the tent of augury. The crowd had grown to include all of the other officers and contingents from all the legions. The murmuring was at first, almost imperceptible but as dawn neared, the men became more and more restless. Finally, as the first rays of dawn began to peek over the horizon, the flap of the tent opened.

Incense smoke seemed to wrap itself around their commander as he walked out. He was pale and sweat dripped from his brow. But despite this, a happy smile was on his face.

"Men!" He addressed the crowd. "Never before has the gods blessed such a people as they have blessed us."

He raised his hands and as if on command, the smoke rose with the motion. "Blessed Juno, beloved patron of our city, spoke to her beloved husband and convinced him to warn us of a great peril that is before us. Wise Minerva and Apollo, at Mighty Jupiter's command have sent us a vision of such power that all of us have been blessed." Caesar paused as if gathering strength for his next words.

"The eagle that we all saw symbolizes us, blessed with strength and valor by the gods."

The men let out a great cheer at this. It took a while for them to calm down from that but when they did, Caesar continued.

"The different animals are the kingdoms of the peoples that inhabit this land." The men muttered but nodded, it made sense.

"We will achieve many victories over them despite their numbers." The men gave a loud cheer at this.

But then Caesar's demeanor changed. His face hardened and his tone deepened.

"But though the gods have blessed us with victory, they bring us a dire warning." All the men leaned in, in anticipation for the explanation of this statement.

"Should we continue our practice of enslaving those vanquished, then all the kingdoms will rise up together and slay us!" The men roared their anger and disbelief.

No no! They said. The gods would never allow it. They had been chosen out of all the Romans in their land to conquer this new land. They would fight! They would slaughter all who stood before them. All who resisted would die or be enslaved. Slavery was a way of life for the Romans, it had been with them since the founding of Rome. It provided them with cheap labor that served them and allowed them to live more leisurely lives as well as powered their economy. They also brought quite a bit of money to the individual legionnaire as captives in battle were either sold and the proceeds divided between the men or were given outright as slaves to the legionnaires. To abolish slavery was unthinkable.

For several minutes, the men raged. Caesar remained stoic, as did his senior officers. The younger and more junior officers were getting more nervous as the men became more and more unruly. Normally, the senior centurions would have been barking orders for them to control the men before they turned into a mob but they did nothing.

 **KRASH!**

Suddenly, a lightning bolt flashed lit up the sky behind Caesar followed by a massive boom of thunder. All the men cowered before the sound. Only Caesar remained standing, still as a rock.

"If we continue to enslave them, them the very earth will swallow us whole." Caesar's words were spoken in a soft tone into the silence of the camp. Despite their softness, they carried through the air. For a few moments there was silence.

Then a clanking was heard. All heads turned to the front of the tent. Gaius Crastinus had slammed his closed fist into his chest in the first part of the Roman salute. He then knelt before Caesar and raised his arm to complete the salute.

"Mighty Jupiter has spoken through the general." He gave Caesar a solid look. "I hear and obey." He bowed his head.

There was a beat, then several thuds as several legionnaires of the Tenth Legion who stood in the front of the crowd slammed their fists into their chests and followed their Primus Pilus. "We hear and obey."

This caused a chain reaction as all the legionnaires followed suit. "We hear and obey."

"We hear and obey." As the last of the legionnaire knelt, the entire camp heard an eagle's cry greeting the rising of the sun. They then knew that the gods were pleased.

 **A/N: And done. I was searching for a way that slavery could be removed from the Romans. Obviously, I can't snap my fingers and boom! Instant free state. Nope.**

 **In ancient history, the Romans were the most prolific slavers in history. Their entire empire was built on war and the labor of slaves. Yes, the Roman legions built roads and aqueducts as well as cities but who do you think maintained them? The slaves of course.**

 **And I couldn't let them remain slavers since the main faiths of Westeros, the Faith of the Seven as well as the faith of the Old Gods, forbid slavery. It would have turned the entire continent against the Romans. There would have been no way for them to survive that. But now, there's a reason why they abandoned slavery. It's because the Gods willed it. The future is here haha.**


End file.
